


The Dawning of the Light

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-09-25 09:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: On Necroworld, the stage is set, the players are in position...but a fledgling relationship between Deathsaurus and Tarn spurs Deathsaurus to follow Tarn to his meeting with Megatron.  With their bridges burning under them, Tarn and Deathsaurus have no choice but to make the impossible decisions set before them.  Alternate universe - canon divergence for "The Dying of the Light."





	1. The Past Has Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon divergence fic, and the major divergence is that Tarn and Deathsaurus have gotten over hating each other and developed some mutual respect, in a way they never did in canon. Canon-typical shippiness. It's pretty obvious they like each other, but there's no explicit sexuality on screen, nor have they agreed on how to define their relationship. 
> 
> This is entry for "The Transformers Big Bang" art plus longform fic event. My wonderful artist is @Ralloonx who did some beautiful art to bring the story to life!
> 
> Musical accompaniment:
> 
> Tarn's theme: "Harmony Hall" by Vampire Weekend  
Deathsaurus's Theme: "I Won't Back Down" by Smokie

_The Dawning of the Light_

Artwork by @ralloonx on Twitter and Tumblr

Chapter 1: The Past Has Teeth

MTMTE 50

The _Peaceful Tyranny_

Tarn, commander of the Decepticon Justice Division, sat at the workstation in his private quarters, finger poised over the _execute _button.

The screen displayed a folder of data he’d only just received. Funny how co-operative mechanisms became when Tarn invoked his title. He’d made his first, second, and third requests under the name _Damus of Tarn _and been ignored.

The folder was titled PROJECT DESZARAS.

Tarn wasn’t entirely ignorant of the kind of data he’d find inside. He’d been Warden of Grindcore when Thunderwing had been conducting PROJECT DESZARAS. He’d supplied Thunderwing with raw materials—the sentio metallico melted down from his Forged prisoners. Thunderwing had used it to run experiments aimed at developing a better class of MTO. Super MTOs, he called them.

So when Deathsaurus told Tarn that his original name was _Deszaras-336 _it wasn’t that hard for Tarn to put the pieces together. Deathsaurus was probably a prototype. One of the early Super MTO models.

Tarn absolutely had Deathsaurus all figured out. No reason at all to be worried. When he opened the files, the only thing Tarn would find would be confirmation of his suspicions. And perhaps some incidental details, like the name of that draconian creature that Deathsaurus turned into. Assuming it was a real animal at all, and not a fantasy beast based on someone’s wild imagination.

_ At least I could offer Deathsaurus the name of the technician who dreamed it up. _

Tarn wasn’t sure if Deathsaurus would want to punish the mech, or thank him. Tarn would have been ashamed, disgusted, and enraged to have been given such an alt. Deathsaurus wore it as though it had been designed with him in mind.

Yes, Deathsaurus had made the most of the hand he’d been dealt, and Tarn couldn’t imagine the revelations inside this file changing Deathsaurus by any significant degree. That mech was going to carry on doing what he would, all else be damned.

So why was Tarn’s finger trembling over a button he couldn’t bring himself to click?

_It won’t change anything_ , Tarn reassured himself. _ It’s just…a comfort, that’s all. It’s one thing to have a theory about your origin, and another to know with absolute certainty where you came from. _

Because Deathsaurus didn’t know. All his early memory files were corrupted. Nickel had tried mnemosurgery to retrieve them and ended up with a headache for a week after. The data she’d received was almost impossible to parse. There were whole files consisting of nothing but smells, for example, that Nickel couldn’t make any sense of.

Tarn suspected that Deathsaurus’s sensory suite was not particularly user-friendly to anyone who wasn’t already equipped to handle a high volume of data: four eyes with infrared, ultraviolet and night vision, plus keen hearing, acute sensory awareness and the aforementioned smells, not to mention taste, pressure and whatever other kind of sensors might be crammed into Deathsaurus’s frame.

The few coherent memories Nickel could retrieve were disturbing, to say the least.

Cell bars.

Blood.

The taste of the dead.

And overtop of it all, a relentless imperative to survive.

Nickel would never admit how the events on Prion still echoed in her sleeping mind, but she didn’t have to. Tarn had noticed her penchant for falling asleep on the common room couch, in the same room where Tesarus was usually up late playing games, going to bed right as Kaon was getting up to enjoy his early morning energon. Nickel didn’t want to recharge alone. Whenever Tarn found her asleep on the couch, he quietly hooked her up to a portable recharge unit, tucked a blanket over her shoulders, and said nothing of it. There was a mutual respect between them.

Thanks to that mutual respect, he didn’t want Nickel picking up Deathsaurus’s nightmares in addition to her own.

Since the menemosurgery, Tarn had noticed how often Nickel ended up falling asleep against Deathsaurus’s side, his wings folded over her—in both his modes. Tarn had misunderstood Deathsaurus in this, as he’d misunderstood him in so many other ways. He’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about Nickel and Deathsaurus’s relationship. At first Tarn had thought that Deathsaurus was just like Megatron, what with the parade of mechanisms in and out of Deathsaurus’s private quarters.

His jealousy had caused him to make a fool of himself when he discovered that Deathsaurus had no other lovers. Not Nickel, not Jallguar, not Ironbison. Deathsaurus was like Nickel, not like Megatron. His other nighttime companions weren’t for play. Deathsaurus didn’t feel secure when he slept alone. The relationship between Nickel and Deathsaurus was one of mutual understanding, of safety and comfort in togetherness.

Deathsaurus’s origin had not been pleasant. Of that, Tarn was sure.

Tarn had never thought of himself as particularly _lucky _before, but he’d been born on a bright and starry night, with the strains of the Empyrean Suite wafting on a gentle breeze. He’d opened his optics for the very first time and beheld a world of wonders.

Tarn suspected that Deathsaurus had opened his optics onto the kind of existence that would break most mechs, but Deathsaurus had flashed a sardonic grin and vowed to make that breaking a challenge. If life had no meaning, he would give his _own _life a meaning of his choosing, and that meaning was his crew. Tarn also suspected…

_ Why waste your time with suspicions? Click the button and you will know. _

But Tarn pulled his hand back into his lap instead.

_I don’t want to know._

He sat there uselessly, arguing with himself.

_ There surely can’t be anything worse in than what you’ve already guessed. _

_ Deathsaurus deserves to know the truth about where he came from._

_ And you…your job is to support him, isn’t it? Isn’t that what allies do? _

Allies. Pah.

He and Deathsaurus were more than just business partners.

Tarn still wasn’t quite sure what had gone awry. He’d planned this alliance very carefully. He would pick a mechanism on the List with a sizeable army of followers and offer them all complete exoneration if they’d help him fight Megatron.

It involved no sacrifice on Tarn’s part. He’d revised the List to have only one name on it: Megatron’s. But he didn’t need to tell Deathsaurus that. Just as he didn’t need to tell Deathsaurus that the majority of his crew, and likely Deathsaurus himself, were intended to be cannon fodder to wear Megatron down so that the DJD could come in, restrain Megatron, and teach him the error of his ways before executing the coup de grace.

Tarn had not thought he might come to _care _about Deathsaurus.

Well, there was an obvious solution: hold Deathsaurus back with the rest of the DJD while his crew did the fighting. Deathsaurus would be more fun when his attention wasn’t divided between Tarn and his crew any more. Right?

Tarn’s spark shifted uneasily in its casing.

He already knew Deathsaurus better than to think that Deathsaurus would ever accept that plan.

And when had _Tarn _started to give a damn about Deathsaurus’s crew of rejects and miscreants? Killbison, the ex-Autobot; Lyzack, the quiet computer technician; Guyhawk, infamous convict, Jallguar, former slave; that mouthy Leozack…and Deathsaurus himself, thief, rebel, traitor.

They were _good people_, and Tarn didn’t understand how that was even possible, with records like theirs. Their files said they were bad people. Worthless people. That Cybertron, and the Decepticons, were better off without them.

Tarn liked them, and hated himself for liking them, and hated the fact that liking them was starting to become something he actually considered when casting judgment upon them. He was supposed to enforce Decepticon Law. How he _felt _about it was the height of irrelevancy.

The fact that Deathsaurus apparently cared about _him_—far more than Megatron ever had, from all available evidence—shouldn’t matter either.

Tarn folded his hands into fists. He had to face facts: Megatron had used him. Megatron had set out to befriend one of Orion Pax’s confidantes, and he’d chosen an empurata victim with an unpleasant talent. Then he’d offered him all manner of things previously out of his reach: Respect. Power. Fame. A _face_.

All Damus of Tarn had to do was put his talent to use for the greater good of the Decepticons, and he could have everything he wanted.

Everything but Megatron’s affection.

In return, Megatron got to hurt Optimus, make full use of Tarn’s unique talents, and build a perfectly loyal boogey man to act as his personal executioner and keep his empire in line via fear.

Tarn could have the _illusion _of Megatron’s affection, at least, whenever Megatron wasn’t busy with Starscream or Deadlock or whoever his current playmate might be. Right up until Megatron had a change of heart about his own movement, and left all his followers to burn in the pyre he himself had lit.

Tarn’s sharp fingers bit into his palms. Pink energon dripped from his hands.

Megatron was going to pay. For what he did to the Decepticons.

For what he had done to Damus of Tarn.

And Deathsaurus…he should be happy, too, shouldn’t he? Deathsaurus had stolen his Warworld and left to found an Empire in the stars because he’d seen what Megatron’s tyranny had become, long before Tarn or anyone else had.

Deathsaurus was no traitor at all. Tarn had come aboard the Warworld and found nothing but proud Decepticons. They’d never turned their backs on the Cause. They’d turned their backs on Megatron.

Whatever was in this file about PROJECT DESZARAS wasn’t of primary importance right now. What mattered now was settling this score with Megatron. After that…after Megatron was taken care of…then Tarn could indulge himself in secondary matters such as Deathsaurus’s origin and what to do about his romantic entanglements with his new field marshal.

Yet Tarn’s spark ached.

_Still? You love Megatron _ still?

It was true, and Tarn hated himself for it.

But he hated Megatron for it more.

At that moment a furious hammering on the door to his quarters sent Tarn bolting to his feet. He dimmed the screen on his workstation, hiding what he’d been looking at. If this was Deathsaurus, he didn’t want his field marshal knowing that he’d gotten the files. Deathsaurus would want to see them right away. Tarn didn’t want Deathsaurus distracted until the Megatron business was dealt with.

_Yes. That’s the justification I’m going to work with._

Tarn was deluding himself with partial truths and he knew it, but right now, he didn’t care.

He walked to the door, half-smiling under his mask, welcoming whatever distraction Deathsaurus had stopped by to give him. He’d thought Deathsaurus was busy with his crew planning a strike on a nearby Black Block Consortia outpost. It wasn’t just how they’d been killing time while hunting Megatron—it was how the Warworld resupplied itself. The battle plan must be nearly complete, and now Deathsaurus was coming to discuss the DJD’s role in the upcoming assault. Tarn had been making the most of Deathsaurus’s raids to practice joint maneuvers between the Warworld Crew and the DJD. They were working together like a well-oiled machine most of the time now, and Tarn was certain they were ready to….

“Tarn!”

The voice on the other side of the door wasn’t Deathsaurus’s. It was Helex’s.

Tarn opened the door. “Yes?”

He tried to look sophisticated. Collected. In control. It was a stark contrast to Helex’s breathless excitement. Helex’s smelter was bubbling madly. He backfired twice before he could get a word out.

“We found him.”

Tarn tilted his head. “What?” he demanded, in a tone intended to make Helex feel like an idiot for his unhelpful, impulsive, poorly-delivered proclamation.

An instant later Tarn guessed what Helex might mean. His fuel tank clenched.

A second later, Helex confirmed Tarn’s suspicions as he panted out, “We’ve found Megatron.”

#

Planning room of Deathsaurus’s Warworld

“Change of plans,” Tarn announced as he strode into the Warworld’s planning room with Helex at his heels.

Deathsaurus looked up from the strategic holomap table with a growl. A hologram of the Black Block Consortia’s outpost and its defenses floated above the table in red, with purple wedges and ovals marking the Warworld and its ships.

Lately, the Consortia had been extending their reach, laying claim to previously unoccupied space. Their fighters and destroyers had been interfering with Cybertronian transports through what should be a free-passage zone. Those transports brought crucial supplies to five of the worlds that Deathsaurus had cyberformed during the course of his military career. The garrisons on those worlds might be small, but they were still Decepticons. _His _Decepticons. The Consortia had no business expanding its reach at the cost of Decepticon citizens. And the Warworld’s supplies had dropped to a level where there wasn’t enough in reserve for Deathsaurus’s comfort.

“I trust there’s a good reason for this.” Deathsaurus bit down his impatience. “We have two weeks of supplies, tops. Three if we dig into the reserves. Taking out that outpost would allow us to re-supply as well as removing a threat to Decepticon interests in the region. I…”

Tarn cut him off. “We’ve found Megatron.”

Deathsaurus felt as though he’d been doused in cold solvent. His fuel pump began to hammer in his chest. “Do you mean you’ve found where he’s been recently?” he asked cautiously. “Like Miliarium?”

By the time the Warworld had arrived in orbit around Milarium and sent a recon team down to the planet, Megatron and the _Lost Light _had been long gone. The Autobot ship’s quantum engines were far more powerful than they had any right to be. Deathsaurus’s scouting missions to plausible destinations—refuelling points, recreational hotspots, supply depots—had turned up nothing. The DJD were right back where they’d started, trailing in Megatron’s wake.

Deathsaurus hadn’t cared in the slightest. As far as he was concerned, he’d be quite content to spend eternity like this: fighting the aliens with Tarn at his side. They made a good team. Megatron could find his own way to the Pit, as far as Deathsaurus was concerned. Deathsaurus had put Megatron behind him a million years ago, when he’d taken the Warworld and struck out on his own.

Tarn’s optics glittered through the holes in his mask. “No. This time we know where he’s _going to be_. And we can be there first. Waiting.”

Deathsaurus’s throat tightened. “How can you know that?”

“We got a tip.” Helex’s lips curved into a smug, satisfied smile.

“A _tip_?” Deathsaurus demanded. He knew he was taking the conversation off topic, and yet something in him desperately wanted a distraction from the news that he realized he did not want to hear. “What, you have a _hot line_ or something? _Report a Traitor – It’s Anonymous?_”

“Pfft,” Tesarus said. “It’s not _anonymous_.”

“Kaon intercepted a communication between the _Lost Light_ and the Galactic Council. It seems that Lord Megatron is continuing to make enemies these days.” Tarn studied his claws in a gesture that seemed to Deathsaurus to be one of calculated disinterest.

Deathsaurus didn’t believe it for a second. His instincts told him that Tarn’s true feeling about Megatron was definitely not disinterest.

What was behind the mask?

Smugness? A feeling that Megatron was getting exactly what he deserved?

Or hope? A wish that Megatron would return to the Decepticons?

Deathsaurus wished he knew.

Tarn continued, “The majority of the _Lost Light _do not want Megatron in their midst. So they’ve arranged to maroon him and a small cadre of his supporters on the planet colloquially known as Necroworld. They’ve summoned the Galactic Council to go pick him up.”

“Necroworld?” Tesarus blurted. “Is this because we killed the…”

Helex elbowed him in the chest and Tesarus fell silent.

Deathsaurus folded his arms and huffed. The DJD had been to Necroworld very recently, aboard the _Peaceful Tyranny_. Deathsaurus had not been invited. He’d been stuck in Nickel’s med-bay, getting the third degree from the diminutive medic while the rest of the DJD took off on their private members-only outing.

Deathsaurus told himself that it was normal that the DJD would want some time to themselves. They’d been a unit, a family, before their alliance with the Warworld. It wasn’t as though Deathsaurus didn’t have private time with his circle of officers too.

Logic did nothing to appease Deathsaurus’s instincts.

Tarn had not told Deathsaurus what his crew had seen on Necroworld, or what they had done. _Nothing of interest_, he had said. But Deathsaurus had smelled the scent of spilled energon and death lying thick on Vos’s hands. He’d seen the nicks on Tesarus’s grinder blades that had not been there when the DJD had left. And he wondered if Nickel knew more than he, or if she had also been left behind for a reason.

Deathsaurus’s instincts told him that Tarn was keeping secrets. Secrets between allies could get a mech killed. Could get his entire crew killed with him.

“We will return to Necroworld, where we will deal with Megatron once and for all,” Tarn declared.

Deathsaurus blinked, and blinked again—all four optics—but he could not blink away the realization that he’d just seen the end of their alliance. Once Megatron was dealt with, what would become of his deal with Tarn?

He _ought _to be worried about Tarn going back on the deal. Putting Deathsaurus and his crew back on the DJD’s List. Instead, he felt…

_Hurt_ .

They’d worked so _well _together. The DJD had been fully integrated into the Warworld’s battle operations, and they’d been raining down wrath and fire on both the Galactic Council and the Black Block Consortia. Tarn had seemed content. Happy, even.

Deathsaurus had allowed himself to hope that perhaps Tarn might forget about Megatron in favour of building a New Decepticon Empire. What could Deathsaurus do, with Tarn by his side?

What would it be like, if his nights in Tarn’s company were more than a temporary entertainment?

_Foolish_ , Deathsaurus berated himself. _Never mind your silly dreams. Think of your crew._

Deathsaurus gestured to the table. “Are you sure we can’t resupply first? If Megatron is marooned as you say, there should be no hurry.”

“Ah, but the Galactic Council are very interested in picking him up.” Tarn’s optics glittered, hard and cold, through the holes in his mask. “I doubt even you could storm the _Benign Intervention _to retrieve Megatron.”

Deathsaurus grudgingly admitted that Tarn was correct. The death toll involved in such an attempt would be high, with no guarantee of success…all that _before _they faced Megatron. The odds were much better if it was just Megatron and a handful of Autobots, marooned on an alien planet. No home turf advantage for anyone, then.

But still, Deathsaurus didn’t like the odds.

Deathsaurus looked over his shoulder at the projection above the table once more. He knew his crew was going to take losses against Megatron. He had to minimize those losses as much as possible.

Deathsaurus took a deep breath. “Tell me again why this is so important.”

Tarn appeared taken aback. “What?”

“You came to me to make a deal. Pardons for my entire crew in exchange for helping you hunt down and kill Megatron. I intend to honour that deal, but I…I just don’t see why it matters.” Deathsaurus took a deep breath. “I look at Megatron and I see a has-been, rejected by his own crew of Autobots, ready to be picked up and executed by the Galactic Council. Meanwhile, _we _are building and reinforcing an empire. Megatron is…is irrelevant.” He raised his hands, almost pleading. “Why not let the Council do the job for us?”

Tarn’s optics smouldered with rage. “Because Megatron is _mine_,” he retorted, and his voice trembled, taut like a bowstring ready to snap. “Not the Autobots’. Not the Galactic Council’s. _Mine_. He _betrayed _us and he _abandoned _us and we _will _make an example of him, Deathsaurus. We will make it clear to _everyone _ what it means to forsake the Decepticon Cause.” Tarn leaned closer. “Do you understand?” he said, and something in his Voice had changed. Every word felt like a hand closing around Deathsaurus’s spark. “Do you understand, Deathsaurus?”

“I…understand,” Deathsaurus replied, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Good,” Tarn replied, and suddenly the hideous pressure was gone. Deathsaurus was left gasping air into his vents and struggling to harness the rage building in his spark.

Tarn had _hurt him_. His own ally. His own…

Deathsaurus had thought they’d reached an understanding. They were building a new Empire together. He’d thought the two of them were partners.

He’d thought they might even be…

But all it had taken was Megatron for the dynamic between Deathsaurus and Tarn to crumble right back to the way it had been on the first day of the alliance: with Tarn in search of an army, ready to make any threat to get it, and Deathsaurus desperately frightened for his crew, unable to trust a single thing Tarn said.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Circle Closes 

MTMTE 51 

Necroworld 

The Necrobot’s Fortress 

Primus help him, but Leozack was starting to enjoy his association with the Decepticon Justice Division. 

It wasn’t fair, how just six mechanisms could augment the Warworld’s military capacity to such a large degree. But Leozack couldn’t argue with the results. Thanks to the DJD, Deathsaurus and Tarn’s joint forces were taking down alien targets that the Warworld could never have handled alone. 

And there was just something _fun _about standing up here on a rise overlooking the Necrobot’s fortress, knowing everyone inside was trembling in fear and awe of your power. Leozack had had enough of scratching for scraps and living in terror. It felt good to be on _this_ side. The side that other people were afraid of. 

He glanced sideways. Credit for _that _had to go to Deathsaurus. Leozack still wasn’t entirely certain how Deathsaurus had managed to cut a deal with the DJD without losing a single one of his crew’s lives. 

At first the alliance had galled Leozack. How many of his fellow soldiers had the DJD picked off? Tarn and his people should pay for what they did. 

His sister Lyzack had argued that past wrongs didn’t justify future sacrifice. That it wasn’t right to throw away more lives in a quest for vengeance. 

Meanwhile, Deathsaurus conveniently blamed Megatron for every wrong the DJD had done in the name of the Decepticon Cause. Megatron had led the DJD astray, he said, just like Megatron tried to send the Warworld crew on a suicide mission. It wasn’t the DJD’s fault. They were just tools of Megatron’s self-centered will. 

Leozack wasn’t sure if he believed that, but he pretended to. He _wanted _to. If that were true, he could be a lot more comfortable fighting at the DJD’s side. It would mean that he didn’t have to feel like a traitor to Black Shadow, or any of his other associates who’d died at the DJD’s hands. 

Really, there was no way that Megatron was innocent in what had happened to Black Shadow. Megatron had created the DJD and given them their bloody mandate. 

Megatron was the one who’d ordered Deathsaurus and his crew on a suicide mission. Megatron had driven Deathsaurus to desert by how callously he treated his own people. Megatron had set the DJD on their tails. 

Megatron deserved exactly what he had coming. 

And the Autobots? They deserved it too, for standing with Megatron. That was how crews worked. Your crewmates shared your triumphs and your failures, your delights and your sorrows—and you, in turn, shared theirs. 

Leozack was proud of his elite air squadron. They’d shot down Megatron’s spaceship—oddly shaped like a Cybertronian’s head—and they’d sent the occupants running for shelter, towards the only building in the vicinity. That building wasn’t fortified, and Megatron’s crew couldn’t possibly be familiar with it. Megatron’s crew were holed up in the only shelter they could find, and Leozack couldn’t wait to close in for the kill. 

Leozack opened his comm link and spoke to his aerial squadron. “Another pass. Switch from guns to missiles. That wall can’t take much more before it collapses.” 

Another voice cut onto the channel. “Belay that order.” 

Leozack always hated when Deathsaurus pulled rank on him in front of his troops. Angrily, he glanced over and saw Deathsaurus next to Tarn. “What?” 

Deathsaurus walked towards him. “We’re withdrawing. Tell your squadron to regroup at the forward base and await further instructions.” 

Leozack could hardly believe what he was hearing. “But we have them on the ropes!” 

Deathsaurus gritted his teeth. “I _know_.” He didn’t sound happy. 

Leozack realized that this retreat wasn’t Deathsaurus’s idea. Begrudgingly he called the retreat. Then he asked Deathsaurus, “Is this Tarn’s idea?” 

Deathsaurus nodded. He pointed towards the ground, where Tarn stood over a single word carved into the soil of Necroworld. 

SUNSET 

Leozack scowled. He felt impatient to have victory so close, only to have his kill dragged away from him at the last second by someone who was supposed to be his ally. “I thought we were going to kill Megatron, slaughter his crew and then go take care of that Black Block Consortia outpost.” 

“As did I.” 

Leozack was surprised. Deathsaurus’s words were as good as an admission that Tarn had not consulted with his field marshal before calling the retreat. Deathsaurus had led them to Necroworld in good faith, with every intention to get the job done, fast and clean. There was a crack in High Command. And Deathsaurus had not lied to cover up whatever miscommunication had taken place between him and Tarn. He’d kept faith with his crew instead. 

“Then you need to ask our so-called ally why we’re hanging around wasting time,” Leozack said, speaking to Deathsaurus as a brother rather than a subordinate. “I don’t want to be here when the Galactic Council show up to collect their prize. I’m not fighting Megatron and the Galactic Council too.” 

Deathsaurus drew a deep breath. “I’m going to talk to Tarn. Get some answers. Because I feel exactly the same.” 

# 

Deathsaurus’s Warworld 

Two hours later 

Deathsaurus stormed down the gangplank of the _Peaceful Tyranny_. His thoughts were a seething morass of frustration, longing, and fear. 

With his mind so muddled, it was easier to let his instincts take over. He changed shape and let his creature form wander where it would. 

Time was of the essence. Sooner later the Galactic Council would show up, and Deathsaurus wanted to be long gone before that happened. Preferably leaving Megatron’s broken corpse as a gift to keep the Council from following them. 

But _no_, Tarn absolutely _had _to toy with his kill. 

When Deathsaurus looked up, he found himself standing in front of a very familiar door. Leozack’s private quarters. 

Deathsaurus hadn’t been to Leozack’s quarters since Tarn and the DJD had come on board. He didn’t want Tarn jumping to any mistaken conclusions about the nature of his current relationship with Leozack. He and Leozack were like brothers now. They had not worked well as lovers. Deathsaurus was too…what did Leozack say? 

Clingy. 

Possessive. 

Deathsaurus wasn’t sure if he was too needy or too domineering, or both, or whether it might not be better explain their incompatibility by stating that Leozack preferred to have multiple partners while Deathsaurus simply wanted an intimate relationship with someone who would focus on him with the same intensity and loyalty that he showed to them. 

It was foolish, of course, to think that Tarn might be that person. Recent events had proven that. 

Deathsaurus couldn’t afford to fantasize about Tarn any longer. He knocked on Leozack’s door. 

“Come in,” Leozack said. 

It was temptingly familiar to curl up on the sofa next to Leozack, the way he had long ago. Deathsaurus changed shape and took the armchair instead. 

“How bad is it?” Leozack said, getting right to the heart of the matter, skipping the courtesies that had never made sense to Deathsaurus. 

“I don’t know.” Deathsaurus ground his teeth. “Apparently we have to wait for sunset.” 

“And hope the Galactic Council don’t show up before then.” 

“Do you think I didn’t tell him that?” Deathsaurus snapped. “ _Logic _says we finish them off now. _Before _the Council arrives. _Before _Megatron has time to come up with a strategy. _Before _the Autobots can explore the Necrobot’s fortress, construct defenses, make inventory of the materials they can scavenge.” 

“Before they do what you would do in their position.” 

Deathsaurus nodded curtly. 

“And what did Tarn say?” 

Deathsaurus sighed. “That he was following a script Megatron had given him. That Megatron had taught him to make kills this way. To attack with a display of power, isolate the victim, and then leave them to stew in their own thoughts until a time of his choosing. It’s supposed to torment them before they die.” Deathsaurus flared his wings. “Choosing the time is also part of the game. It implies that Tarn—or Justice, or the Decepticon Empire; I’m not too clear on the symbolism—that Tarn has complete power over the situation, and the victim is utterly powerless.” 

Sarcasm lay thick in Leozack’s voice. “Megatron. Powerless. Right.” 

“I did not spend the time between Tarn first telling us he wanted to_talk _and first meeting him face to face by stewing in _any _thoughts other than those which would give us the best odds of surviving that encounter. I didn’t have time to waste on regret, or fear, or feigned penitence for actions I will never be sorry for.” Deathsaurus glanced at Leozack. “Frankly, my biggest surprise is that if Megatron is truly sincere about recanting Decepticonism, that he hasn’t hunted down the DJD before we ever got this far.” 

“Not everyone thinks like you,” Leozack murmured. 

“Clearly not.” Deathsaurus’s wings flared. “I don’t like this, Leozack. This…_playing _with a kill. Failing to respect an opponent’s abilities is just one step away from dying yourself.” He fixed Leozack with a pleading glance, begging his brother to interpret Tarn’s behaviour for him, as he had so many times in the past when the behaviour of so-called normal mechanisms had left him bewildered. 

“So what do you want?” Leozack asked. 

Deathsaurus blinked both sets of optics. “I want Megatron dead, where he can’t hurt any of us any longer. I want to get this job done and get back to what’s important.” He paused, and admitted quietly, “I want Megatron out of Tarn’s life.” 

“And what does Tarn want?” 

Deathsaurus felt as though he was guessing. “He wants Megatron to be…punished?” 

Leozack nodded encouragingly. “Which is different from simply _dead. _It’s not the way you operate, Des. When you look at Megatron, all you see is a threat to your people. A threat that you want to remove, quickly and with minimal risk. To you, Megatron is just a problem to be solved.” Leozack scratched his cheek. “I think it’s harder for Tarn. There are _feelings _involved.” 

“So what?” Deathsaurus asked irritably. He was used to ignoring his feelings and putting his crew first. He didn’t understand why this was apparently so difficult for everyone else. 

Leozack sighed. “I’ve got to translate for you again, don’t I?” 

Deathsaurus nodded miserably. 

“Can you understand the idea of _justice_? If you had your way, Megatron would die quick and clean. Tarn thinks it would be too merciful after everything Megatron has done.” 

“But what does it matter if Megatron suffers, if he ends up dead anyway?” 

“Because Megatron taught Tarn to kill this way. Do you see how fitting it is that Megatron die by the very technique he taught to Tarn? By dying the way he decreed that all traitors to the Decepticon cause should die? That by using Tarn and the DJD to torment others, and then throwing them away, he engineered his own downfall?” 

“I suppose.” Deathsaurus rose from the chair and started to pace. “But I wouldn’t gamble a single one of my crew’s lives on a _feeling_. Whether that’s Megatron’s suffering or Tarn’s satisfaction. A feeling is...insubstantial, fleeting…” He grasped for words that eluded him. “Tarn is increasing our risk by his decision, and I don’t like it.” 

Leozack stood in Deathsaurus’s path. Deathsaurus stopped before he ran into him, and Leozack put his hands on Deathsaurus’s chestplate. 

“What are you going to do if Tarn won’t listen to you?” Leozack asked. 

“What I always do. In my crew’s best interest, whatever it takes.” The answer was glaringly obvious. Deathsaurus didn’t understand why Leozack was even asking. 

Leozack lowered his hands. “Sorry. I thought… Well. There’s a rumour going around that you’re in love with Tarn.” 

“Yes, that’s true.” 

Leozack’s jaw dropped. “Oh.” 

Deathsaurus had thought this fact was also glaringly obvious. He cocked his head, curious and confused by Leozack’s responses. 

“I mean…” Leozack bit his lip. “If that’s how you feel, then what if…what if Tarn really wants us to…wants you to tell us to…” 

“Leozack.” Why was Leozack having such difficulty with comprehension? After two million years, Leozack should know where Deathsaurus’s loyalties lay. “I just said I would never risk something as precious as the lives of my people, on some _feeling_. Not even if that feeling is my own.” 

# 

Conference room of the Peaceful Tyranny 

One hour later 

Tesarus knew there was going to be trouble from the moment he realized where that music was coming from. 

The notes blared out of Tarn’s comm unit—not his regular comm unit, but the one Tesarus and Helex jokingly called _the Megatron phone_. Kaon had never approved of those jokes, and Vos didn’t seem to get them, so Tesarus waited until he and Helex were alone before making wisecracks about Tarn’s habit of carting around a dedicated comm unit for Megatron to _not _ call him on. 

It was kind of sad, really. Imagine being the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division and spending your time sitting around moping, waiting for the comm to chime. 

Tesarus never brought up the topic with Tarn himself. Tesarus didn’t have a death wish. 

His jaw still ached sometimes from the aftermath of his last performance review, and his spark still flickered when he thought of how it had felt to sit there, his mouth in agony, his spark dimming against its will while his frame was held fast in the grip of Tarn’s voice. He had been utterly, completely overpowered by a mech half his size, and Tarn had hammered home to him just how outmatched he had been—that he would live, or die, at Tarn’s leisure. 

Afterwards, Tarn had whispered a threat that Nickel was never to hear of it, and Tesarus had kept the altercation a secret for fear of a reprise. Tesarus was done with questioning Tarn’s choices. 

Besides, Megatron had given the DJD their mandate: to curate the List, to terminate traitors with extreme prejudice, and to feel free to indulge in extracurricular activities with Autobots, neutrals or aliens when the opportunity arose. Even without Megatron, that mandate had remained unchanged. The only thing that was different was no more Item 4, _act as Megatron’s personal hit squad_, but Tesarus wasn’t particularly sorry about that. Those jobs had always been so high-pressure, and Tesarus hated being pulled away from a hunt in progress to go whack someone else for the big guy. Tesarus had privately been happy when Megatron started waiting a few years in between phone calls, which were usually pretexts for Item 4 missions. 

It was only after the whole _defection _news broke that Tesarus started getting worried. It was one thing to be left alone to do their job and quite another to find out that their boss had defected to the enemy. 

Then things started getting really weird. No more List. Helex constantly grumping that nothing Megatron had done could absolve traitors of their crimes; that Tarn shouldn’t have reduced the List to Megatron’s name alone. What about Deadlock? What about Fulcrum? Tarn had been acting in an increasingly bizarre manner, and Tesarus was frankly afraid to ask if he was all right. 

Then the alliance with Deathsaurus and his pirates turned Tesarus’s happy, bloody little world upside down. As a rule, the DJD did not _do _ “compromise.” 

Yet Tesarus had almost convinced himself that after this—after they killed Megatron—their lives would get back to normal. Tarn would be the new Emperor. Maybe he’d put Helex or Kaon in charge of the DJD. That’d be weird—calling one of them “Tarn”—but then they could go back to killing traitors in the name of the Cause and everything would be okay again. Maybe they wouldn’t have to hang out with these Warworld jerks any more. 

Tesarus might—_might_—be starting to almost _like _Killbison and Guyhawk, but he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. 

The ringing of the Megatron phone shattered Tesarus’s hopes that a return to his normal life was just a few murders away. 

What in the Pit was going on? Possibilities flitted through Tesarus’s mind. Megatron was calling to surrender. Megatron was calling to tell Tarn off. Tesarus didn’t know which would piss Tarn off more. 

Was it possible that Megatron was calling to beg for mercy? Now _that _would be hilarious! 

Either way, Tarn wasn’t going to be interested in what Tesarus had to say about the storm shield. Not that he’d been _beforehand_. Tesarus grimaced and folded both sets of hands behind his back. _Deathsaurus _had been listening to him. That fact grated on his nerves too. He wanted to hate the Warworld Commander who’d taken up so much of Tarn’s attention as of late, but Tarn had a bad habit of ignoring any feedback he didn’t want to hear and Deathsaurus had a _good _habit of trusting his subordinates to make meaningful contributions to the tactical plan. Deathsaurus might even be an okay guy, if only it just wasn’t so _gross _the way he and Tarn looked at each other when they… 

“Excuse me,” Tarn said, and stepped out of the room. 

Tesarus noticed that Tarn didn’t bother looking at Deathsaurus before he left. 

“What the frag?” Deathsaurus blurted the instant the door was closed. “We’re in the middle of a planning session.” He flared his wings. “A planning session that wouldn’t even have been necessary if we’d pressed our initial attack until we’d wiped them out.” 

“Impatient?” Nickel asked, and her voice held a note of warning. 

“Concerned,” Deathsaurus said, slamming his hands down on the table. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Is it Kaon? Helex?” 

Tesarus turned his gaze to the ceiling. Just what he needed—Deathsaurus trying to soften up Nickel by parading his worries for Kaon and Helex. Kaon and Helex were more than capable of looking after themselves—Kaon, anyway. He’d survived Ofsted XVII, after all. And Helex was no slouch, either. 

Nickel exhaled slowly. “Tesarus calls that the Megatron Phone,” she admitted. 

Tesarus took a look at Deathsaurus’s face and decided, then and there, that he wanted nothing to do with the coming conversation. 


	3. Too Close to the Sun

Chapter 3: Too Close to the Sun 

Deathsaurus whistled through gritted fangs, feeling a hot and feral fury blazing through his systems. “You mean to tell me that, even after the betrayal, Tarn _still _kept his private comm link with Megatron?” 

Vos burbled something in Old Cybertronian that turned into a chuckle and ended with a grunt when Nickel elbowed him in the midsection. 

“Vos says,” Nickel translated, “that Megatron used to call regularly for reports and special missions, but that those calls had become very infrequent over the last hundred years, until finally several years went by without the phone ringing at all. Vos says he didn’t know Tarn still carried it with him but…” She trailed off. Vos, recovered, nudged her shoulder. Nickel sighed. “He says he’s not surprised given the way Tarn behaved when he received those calls.” 

“Meaning Tarn valued the opportunity to speak with Megatron.” 

Vos hissed in Nickel’s audio. 

“Vos says Tarn used to dismiss the group meetings and carry on private conversations afterwards.” 

“And _despite _everything Megatron has done—and how unspeakably angry Tarn has been—and the desperation Megatron’s actions have cast over the entire Decepticon Cause—Megatron calls, and Tarn comes running?” Deathsaurus demanded. 

Nickel put her hands on her hips and opened her mouth… 

…then pivoted on her wheels and looked up at Tesarus. “Yeah, what the _slag _is up with that?” 

Tesarus looked at Vos. 

Vos transformed and clattered to the floor. 

“Because nobody’s going to interrogate a rifle. Thanks, Vos,” Tesarus sulked. 

Deathsaurus stepped forward, flared his wings and did his best to loom ominously over Tesarus. Tes was a lot bulkier than Deathsaurus was, but the beastformer’s wings were large enough to cast a shadow over the grinder mech. 

Nickel rolled up right between Deathsaurus’s spread legs and glared up at Tesarus. 

Tesarus cringed. “Don’t think I’m happy about it, either.” 

“But?” Deathsaurus asked. 

Tesarus sighed. “But this is typical Tarn. Megatron says jump, Tarn says how high. Megatron doesn’t call for four or five years, Tarn leaves him messages asking if he’d like someone to jump for him.” Tesarus spoke quickly, his voice rising. Words spilled out of him like compressed air through an open pressure valve. “I guess even getting stabbed in the back isn’t enough to disabuse him of his obsessive crush on…” 

Tesarus broke off and looked nervously over his shoulder. When he turned back to Deathsaurus, his expression was pleading. “_Please _don’t tell Tarn I said that.” 

Deathsaurus almost felt sorry for him. It was clear that Tesarus had been irritated by the extent of Tarn’s preoccupation with Megatron for some time, and that Tarn had been unwilling to listen to Tesarus’s concern. Just as he had been unwilling to listen to Tesarus about the storm shield. 

Just as he’d been unwilling to listen to Deathsaurus when Deathsaurus wanted to press the attack and kill Megatron quickly. 

But in the end, Deathsaurus saved his pity for _himself_. He hadn’t realized the depths of Tarn’s infatuation. If Tarn—the powerful, fearsome, accomplished leader of the DJD—would happily debase himself before Megatron at just a _hint _of the warlord’s attention, how could Deathsaurus hope to compete? 

_You were outmatched before you even joined the game._

Deathsaurus wasn’t the type to hesitate in the face of a rival, but he had no idea how to begin fighting a phantasm: not the real Megatron at all, but the idealized, fantasy Megatron that lived in Tarn’s imagination. 

_Fight the real Megatron first. Sort the rest out afterwards._

That wasn’t exactly a _good _plan, but it was the only plan Deathsaurus had. 

Nickel didn’t look any happier than Deathsaurus felt. “It’s like…like I don’t even know Tarn after all,” she whispered. It set Deathsaurus’s instincts on edge to see the fearless little medic sound so insecure. 

Vos changed shape and put his arms on her shoulders in a gesture that Deathsaurus supposed was intended to be comforting. 

Agitated, Deathsaurus turned his attention back to the conference table, studying the tactical display on the tabletop. He barely had a chance to fall into contemplation of possible strategies when the door banged open. 

Tarn stood in silhouette in the doorway. 

Nickel looked up at him hopefully and rolled to his side, but before she could say anything, Tarn cut her off. “Not _now_,” Tarn said impatiently. “I’ll be back before sunset. We’ll discuss it then.” 

“But..” 

“_Sunset_,” Tarn repeated. His optics swept the room and settled on Deathsaurus, making it clear that his words were intended for Deathsaurus as well. He had no time for questions or discussion or listening to his allies’ concerns. 

Tarn turned on his heel, stepped out into the corridor, changed shape, and drove away. 

Deathsaurus stood in front of the conference table and seethed. His hands balled into fists at his sides. He felt frustrated and neglected and slighted, and yes, he felt hurt. 

Before emotion could overwhelm him, he transformed and let his animal side take control. His instincts were more trustworthy than his emotions at a time like this. 

His instincts told him to follow Tarn. 

He barely took two steps before Tesarus moved to block his path, standing in the doorway like a bouncer, both pairs of arms folded—the upper pair across his chest, the lower pair across his waist. Vos clambered up Tesarus’s side and perched on his left shoulder, the way Deathsaurus’s pet bird often perched on his. 

“Stand aside,” Deathsaurus said irritably. 

“Nothing doing,” Tesarus retorted. 

Deathsaurus supposed it would have come to this eventually. Tesarus didn’t like his relationship with Tarn and made no secret of the fact. He wished they could’ve picked a less time-sensitive occasion to come to blows, but Deathsaurus rarely got what he wanted, and had made a career from making the most of what he had. He would take Tesarus down quickly and pursue Tarn. Assuming he survived, he would deal with Tesarus more thoroughly later. 

Deathsaurus flared his wings and opened his jaw in a threat display. 

Tesarus flinched, but held his ground. “You idiot, I’m doing you a _favour_,” he snapped. 

Deathsaurus closed his jaw and cocked his head, confused. 

Vos slid down off Tesarus and rattled off a string of Old Cybertronian that Deathsaurus didn’t understand. 

Deathsaurus didn’t trust Tesarus to translate. He looked at Nickel instead and gestured to Vos. 

Nickel didn’t look happy. “Vos says that Tarn doesn’t like it when we interfere in his business.” 

Vos tugged her shoulder and spouted another series of phrases. 

“Vos wants me to tell you that when Tarn first met with you, he wanted to help Tarn fight you, but Kaon wouldn’t let him. For the same reason we’re holding you back now.” 

Deathsaurus reared up on his hand legs, folding his animal forelimbs in mimicry of Tesarus. “And you _care _if I make Tarn angry, _why_?” 

“Don’t you get it?” Tesarus snapped. “Piss him off and he’ll _kill_ you. He started doing that voice trick on _me _when I called him out for leaving Vos and Kaon behind on Ofsted XVII.” 

Nickel froze. Deathsaurus watched from the corner of his optics as her whole frame grew rigid. “I didn’t know about that,” she said slowly. 

Vos murmured something to her. 

Whatever he said snapped her out of it. Her body quivered with rage. “What do you mean, _Tarn’s better behaved in front of me_?” 

Deathsaurus’s fuel tanks turned over uneasily. 

He’d suspected for some time that Tarn wasn’t nearly the model of stable leadership that he wanted people to believe he was. For one, there was the transformation addiction, and other addictions on top of that. Tarn dabbled in fuel additives—not just engex, but power enhancers and spiked oil and Primus only knew what else. Not circuit boosters—Deathsaurus _thought _not, anyway—but he was into _something_, something he kept locked in the med bay on the _Peaceful Tyranny_, something that made him _very _short tempered and prodigiously violent. Tarn tried to be subtle, but Deathsaurus could smell it on him, could see his optics burning a little too brightly, could hear the knocking in his engine, could taste a whisper of something sour coming out of his vents. 

Deathsaurus didn’t like the fact that Tarn was threatening his own team for what sounded like reasonable inquiries, and he _really _didn’t like the fact that Tarn was hiding this behaviour from Nickel. All this on _top _of Tarn’s obsessive and increasingly irrational fixation on Megatron. 

_It’s not just you. Tarn does this to everyone._

Deathsaurus wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. 

A rebellious thought wormed its way through his mind: _maybe you should get out while the getting’s good._

He shoved the thought away. He concentrated on Tesarus, on the matter at hand. “I would think you lot would be _happy _if Tarn killed me. Isn’t that what Helex is always going on about—that I belong on the List?” 

Tesarus looked deeply unhappy. “I don’t wanna deal with Tarn’s mood after he killed you.” 

“You think he’d be disturbed,” Deathsaurus said warily. He didn’t want to believe that Tarn cared about him. Not now, when he’d just started armouring himself against his hurt feelings. 

“You’re both idiots,” Nickel snapped. “Tesarus, if Tarn is going to meet Megatron—who we already know is a traitor, who we already know Tarn can’t beat in a fair fight—then I for one want Tarn to have some backup. And Deathsaurus, if you think we haven’t noticed the little _thing _you have going on with Tarn, then you’re nowhere near as perceptive as I gave you credit for.” 

Deathsaurus landed on his forelimbs and snorted. He’d tried to be tactful in front of the DJD, at Tarn’s request, but he already knew that secrecy really wasn’t his forte. 

Tesarus made a face. “Nickel, that’s _disgusting_.” 

Deathsaurus expected Nickel to chew a strip off the grinder mech, but instead she rolled forward and placed her tiny hand on Tesarus’s leg—as close to his arm as she could reach. “Let him go,” she said softly. “Let him give Tarn what we can’t.” 

Deathsaurus wasn’t sure if she was talking about backup, or something else. 

Tesarus hung his head and stepped aside. 

Deathsaurus wanted to thank them, but time was short. He nodded instead, and bounded towards the door, racing to catch up with Tarn. 

# 

MTME 52 

The fields of Necroworld 

Heavy tank tracks gouged their way through the blue fields of Necroworld, leaving two green lines of flattened cyber-vegetation and crushed flowers in their wake. Nuke sang in Tarn’s fuel lines, but despite the powerful high of Tarn’s favourite performance enhancer, for once it was failing to give him its customary taste for violence. 

_What am I doing?_

Tarn knew that his treacherous spark ought not to be leaping in joy at the prospect of meeting with Megatron. It was as though his heart remained willfully ignorant of the fact that Megatron had betrayed him. 

_ And the Decepticon Cause. Don’t forget that. You’re doing this for the entire Decepticon Cause. _

Or maybe his heart was simply forgiving. Megatron had hurt him, but his love for Megatron didn’t care. He would love Megatron until the end of time. No matter what Megatron did. 

No matter what he had to do to Megatron. 

Because Megatron needed to be punished. The Decepticon movement needed to know that its upper echelons could keep their own house clean. Otherwise, its supporters would scatter to the four winds, and the Decepticon dream would die. 

Tarn would take care of Megatron’s creation, even if Megatron didn’t value it any longer. Tarn did. Nickel did. Decepticonism had saved the both of them. Unlike some people, they remembered where their loyalties belonged. 

The movement needed leadership. Authority. A vision. Unity. Tarn could provide some of that. Nickel and Deathsaurus could help with the rest. 

…_Deathsaurus._

Deathsaurus made everything a lot more complicated. 

It had been his intention, in the beginning, to make a straightforward deal: an army for Tarn to use against Megatron in exchange for taking Deathsaurus and his crew off the List. Tarn had not cared, then, if any of the Warworld crew survived the coming battle. Nor had he ruled out putting the lot of them back _on _the List once he no longer had need of an army. 

But Deathsaurus had not been what Tarn had expected. 

Once upon a time a young mechanism had been built for a purpose: to serve the needs of his betters until those needs took his life. Instead, this mech united others like him and built them into an army. They rose up together to cast off their shackles. Their leader devoted his life to campaigning for the freedom of his people, against any odds, in defiance of any master. 

That young mechanism could just as easily be named Deathsaurus as Megatron. 

It had been easy for Tarn to soothe his emotional pain from Megatron’s betrayal by casting Deathsaurus in Megatron’s role. Particularly when Deathsaurus seemed willing to play along. 

Tarn realized too late that Deathsaurus was not _playing_. The mech was a natural leader and he clearly wanted Tarn for his own. 

While part of Tarn’s brain insisted that Megatron needed to be punished, another part told him he was far better off devoting his attention to Deathsaurus instead of Megatron. 

While part of Tarn’s spark still thrilled at the thought of Megatron, another part was growing very fond of his new field marshal. 

And while Megatron proved elusive, it was easy for Tarn to focus his attention on the fantasy at his fingertips: sailing the galaxy with Deathsaurus, beating back the aliens in defense of Decepticon interests, fighting together at one another’s sides. 

Except that now Megatron was here. The daydream that Tarn had concocted with Deathsaurus was over. 

Even now, a part of his brain and a part of his spark told him to turn around. To go back to the _Peaceful Tyranny_, back to _Deathsaurus_, and listen to what his field marshal had to say. 

But Tarn could already guess what Deathsaurus would say. Deathsaurus would turn this meeting into an ambush. Deathsaurus would want to strike Megatron in full force while he was vulnerable and alone. They could mop up the Autobots later, if they wanted to bother at all. Make the kill, quick and clean, and be on their way to attack that Black Block Consortia outpost before sunset. 

Tarn did not want to do that. He wasn’t sure if he hoped to stave off the need to kill Megatron, or if he wanted to make that kill as prolonged and agonizing as possible. 

Or maybe…just maybe…he hoped that Megatron would take the decision away from him, and put him out of his misery. 

Going back to Deathsaurus was definitely smarter. 

Still, Tarn knew that he was long past the point of return. He was drawn to Megatron as inexorably as an Insecticon to bright light. Megatron, his sun. Beautiful. Fatal. 

There was no force in the universe that could turn his tracks around. 


	4. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

Chapter 4: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter 

Trailing Tarn was easy. Deathsaurus could fly and there were clouds in the skies above Necroworld. All he had to do was make sure that his shadow didn’t alert Tarn to his presence. 

Deathsaurus _supposed _that Tarn could also look up and wonder if flying monsters were native to the planet. He made sure to weave in and around the clouds to minimize the risk of being seen, but the longer he flew the more certain he was that Tarn wasn’t thinking about anything except Megatron. 

Deathsaurus kept a sharp optic out for the Autobots, or an ambush, but he saw no signs of movement below. Nothing but statues and blue flowers in every direction. 

At last, Tarn came to a stop and transformed. Deathsaurus looked around for the nearest source of cover and let out an angry and foul curse. Leave it to Tarn to pick a meeting place that stood in the very middle of an open field. 

There was nowhere for Deathsaurus to conceal himself. Like it or not, he was too big to hide underneath the flowers. He couldn’t even find a thermal and glide in circles, not without risking a tell-tale shadow passing over the ground. He had no choice but to double back and perch atop the nearest statue to Megatron’s, which was a damned long way away. 

Deathsaurus landed, heedless of whose shoulders he perched on. Tarn was a silhouette against the horizon. Deathsaurus shifted uneasily; if a threat came from the other direction, he’d never see it in time. Still, there was no way he could get closer without Tarn noticing his presence. 

_Make the most of what you have_ . 

Deathsaurus growled under his breath and settled down to wait. 

It was only a matter of moments before Deathsaurus’s keen hearing picked up the sound of a small motor. 

It didn’t _sound _like a tank. Deathsaurus continued to scan the horizon, unwilling to be distracted by a possible decoy. The source of the sound puttered into view. 

Well, _that _wasn’t what he’d expected. Megatron, in robot mode, perched awkwardly atop a tiny pink scooter that could barely accommodate his size. Deathsaurus supposed he had little grounds from which to laugh, given that he was barely clinging to the statue beneath him, but the incongruous image made Deathsaurus curious. Megatron had never been one to poke fun at himself. That fact suggested to Deathsaurus that Megatron was riding the scooter instead of driving in his tank form because he _couldn’t _change shape, or because it was too exhausting to do so. And _that _suggested to Deathsaurus that Tarn might in fact have an advantage in the coming battle. 

That is, if Megatron truly _was _weakened. It was also possible that Megatron feared Tarn and his Voice enough to feign a disability that didn’t exist—_you are being deceived_—solely to get Tarn to drop his guard. __

Very well. Then Deathsaurus would _not _drop his. 

Deathsaurus’s adrenals dumped chemicals into his system that sharpened his vision and his hearing and his sense of smell. He lifted his muzzle, but he could not scent anything on the wind save Tarn and Megatron, the scooter’s exhaust, and the sweet bloom of the flowers. Deathsaurus decided that he didn’t like the flowers. They looked pretty, but they smelled like death. 

Megatron drew close to Tarn and dismounted. Tarn took a step closer to him. Deathsaurus dialed his audials up to their maximum sensitivity. 

The wind was in his favour. Deathsaurus could hear their conversation. Not all of it, but most of it. The breeze snatched the odd word away. 

He shook his head. He ought not be spying on what was clearly meant to be a private meeting between Tarn and Megatron. If Tarn wanted to slip away from the _Peaceful Tyranny_, from his team, from _Deathsaurus_, for some private little _liaison _with Megatron, that certainly wasn’t Deathsaurus’s business… 

What was Deathsaurus going to do if Megatron asked Tarn to join him? 

What did Tarn love more: the Cause, or Megatron? 

_Who does he love more: Megatron, or me?_

Deathsaurus feared he already knew the answer. 

He tried to convince himself that if his fears were _true_, then Tarn would also be wearing an Autobot badge. His instincts did not find his logic to be at all persuasive. It was one thing for Tarn to feel betrayed by an unexpected and unpleasant surprise, and quite another to maintain that feeling in the face of Megatron’s direct influence. What if Megatron’s explanation made sense to Tarn? What if Tarn wanted to go with him—have his old life back? 

Deathsaurus found himself hoping that Megatron let Tarn down, in every way possible. _Go on, Megatron. Throw him away. Throw him back to me._

It was a selfish thought. Deathsaurus ought to think about what would be best for Tarn, but all he could think of right now was that Tarn was _his_. Deathsaurus had done what pirates do and taken his prize away from its neglectful prior owner. 

_If Megatron wants Tarn back, he should have to fight me for him._

But watching Tarn and Megatron, Deathsaurus knew that fight was already stacked in Megatron’s favour. Not just because of Megatron’s strength as a fighter. Because of the way Tarn looked at him. 

In the end this was going to be decided by _Tarn’s _choice. There was no way for Deathsaurus to earn a victory, either by combat or by cunning. Deathsaurus could rage all he wanted about the way that Megatron took Tarn for granted, used and abused him, called him at his convenience, ignored him the rest of the time—but logic would not change Tarn’s heart. 

The situation was out of Deathsaurus’s control. He should change shape and dial down his audios and stop spying. Perhaps he should actually _trust _Tarn to take his side. 

Deathsaurus glanced around. Still no sign of Autobots. If he dialed down his audios he might not hear an approaching ambush… 

_Who am I fooling?_

He settled down, lashing his tail uneasily. He could justify listening in as much as he liked, arguing with himself that Tarn’s decisions here had ramifications for Deathsaurus’s crew and as their leader he had an obligation to gather intelligence and use it in his team’s best interests, but in truth his primary concern was where _he _stood with Tarn. Did Tarn think of him at all before running off to meet Megatron? Or was he just the most convenient stand-in at hand—someone to distract Tarn from Megatron? Someone who was disposable if Megatron took Tarn back? 

Deathsaurus’s mouth tasted sour. He smacked his beak and wished Tarn had picked someone else to be his temporary ally and berth warmer. Never mind that the berth warming had been Deathsaurus’s idea to start with. Tarn should be with someone else who hated Megatron….better yet, someone who hated and loved him in equal measure. Prime, maybe. Or perhaps Overlord. 

A whisper of a strange scent came to Deathsaurus’s nose. 

Then the sound of metal crumpling jarred Deathsaurus from his thoughts. 

See, _this _was why he couldn’t afford to brood on the turmoil in his spark. His foolish emotions were nothing next to the importance of maintaining situational awareness. Something had changed between Megatron and Tarn. Deathsaurus had missed it because he’d been distracted. 

Deathsaurus watched in abject shock as Tarn pummelled Megatron and Megatron, unresisting, let him. Deathsaurus climbed up the statue and stood atop its shoulders on his hind legs, craning his neck for a better view, flaring his wings for balance. He no longer worried about being seen. Tarn’s attention was wholly fixated on Megatron. 

Tarn’s fusion cannons flared, illuminating Megatron’s statue and the surrounding flowers with an angry purple glow. 

Megatron tumbled backwards. Tarn stepped forward, looming over his fallen foe, leaning down to examine Megatron’s frame. Deathsaurus felt his spark flare with hope. 

_Just finish it._

Tarn raised his arm, pointing both his cannons at Megatron. 

_Pull the trigger_ , Deathsaurus thought, wishing Tarn could hear his thoughts. _Please. Just finish it and let’s go._

That strange scent intensified. Deathsaurus sniffed; the scent faded, then grew strong again as the wind gusted against his face. It smelled like organic mammals and energon together, and underneath, the rancid stink of rot. 

Deathsaurus lifted his head, scanning the horizon. Nothing. He glanced upwards and his predator’s gaze was immediately drawn to a flicker of movement in the sky. He blinked, activating his long-range vision, zeroing in on the target. 

His throat closed off. 

If this was Megatron’s doing, Deathsaurus had to admit that he’d set one hell of a trap. 

Overlord plummeted from the sky like a falling star. Even Deathsaurus’s keen senses had failed to detect whatever shuttle he’d leapt from. Deathsaurus leapt off his perch, flying as fast as he could, but he was nowhere near as fast as Overlord’s descent rate. By the time Deathsaurus had reached Megatron’s statue, Overlord and Tarn were already exchanging insults and weapons fire. 

Deathsaurus didn’t have time to waste transforming. He grabbed for his primary firearm and clasped it in his talons; then he lifted his wings and let himself drop down between Overlord and Tarn. He braced his hindlimbs to catch his weight. Just before he hit the ground, he stretched out his tail and wings for balance. His knees bent, but he didn’t stumble. 

Deathsaurus glared at Overlord through the crosshairs of his weapon and hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by putting his back to Tarn…and Megatron. 

“Why, _Tarn_,” Overlord drawled as he looked Deathsaurus up and down. “I didn’t realize you were keeping a _pet_.” 

Deathsaurus was not an easy mech to goad, on account of his inability to care about the opinions of outsiders. It was not always an admirable trait—there were times when his attitude had cost him support—but his profound distrust would then weigh in and ask him if he really wanted to interact with mechanisms he couldn’t count on. Ordinarily, Overlord’s taunts would be of no concern to him. 

Except that Overlord had just shown a remarkable gift for saying the one thing that got under Deathsaurus’s skin. 

Deathsaurus felt his hackles rising at the insinuation that he was nothing more than a dumb animal. A creature that _belonged _in shackles because, of course, it was incapable of thinking for itself. 

Deathsaurus clenched his jaw and reminded himself that he wouldn’t do Tarn—or himself—any favours if he tried to punch that smirk off Overlord’s generous lips. 

_Could _ he even best Overlord in a fight? Deathsaurus hated to admit that the answer was no. His creators had laced his frame with extra sentio metallico, and he was strong, stronger than most mechs, and he healed with terrifying speed, but he wasn’t Overlord’s equal, and he suspected that Overlord knew it. 

His _only _hope would be to use Overlord’s smug superiority against him, but how could he do that _here_, on an open field? He would need control of the location, the help of his crew, _time_, to stack the odds in his favour. He had none of that. Nothing but him and Tarn alone against an enemy neither had been anticipating. 

“Deathsaurus, what are you doing here?” Tarn sounded irritated. His voice rubbed against Deathsaurus’s spark like sandpaper. 

“Oh _dear_,” Overlord said. “Your pet is rather poorly trained, isn’t he?” He wagged his finger in Deathsaurus’s face, just a few inches shy of Deathsaurus’s beak. “You mustn’t attack before your master gives the command.” 

Deathsaurus resisted the urge to bite that finger clean off. 

“I don’t recall asking for a bodyguard,” Tarn said at Deathsaurus’s back. 

“You asked for a field marshal,” Deathsaurus said grimly. “I’m doing my job.” 

“Oh?” Overlord looked delighted. “I suppose _someone _has to. Since it’s anyone’s guess as to whether or not Tarn here would have the nerve to finally kill his venerated hero.” His attention slid to Tarn. “But won’t you find it dissatisfying to sic your pet on Megatron instead of making the kill yourself?” 

“I don’t need _backup_,” Tarn hissed. 

“I don’t recall anticipating _Overlord_,” Deathsaurus countered. “Is this Megatron’s idea of an ambush?” 

“Fornately, I don’t think there’s going to be a problem,” Tarn said smoothly. “Before you so crudely interrupted us, Overlord and I were on the verge of coming to an agreement to dispose of our _mutual _target.” 

“Why, _Tarn_,” Overlord said with an exaggerated chuckle. “What a _negotiator _you are. I would never have expected you to place such value on _compromise_.” 

Deathsaurus’s instincts twitched. Overlord and Tarn were focused on one another. He was watching Overlord. 

Who was watching Megatron? 

Deathsaurus inhaled. He could still smell Megatron, but that didn’t mean much, given how much spilled energon was on the ground. 

Deathsaurus changed shape, hoping two sets of optics would give him the ability to watch Overlord and find Megatron at the same time. He tried to catch a glimpse of Megatron with his secondary optics, but he couldn’t do it without turning his head and taking his primary optics off of Overlord. Just because Overlord was apparently out to kill Megatron just like they were, didn’t mean Overlord wasn’t a threat. 

“First Deathsaurus, now me. A series of alliances. I would never have _guessed_.” Overlord raised an optic ridge. “Don’t tell me you’re going _soft _like _some _warlords I know.” His gaze rested on Deathsaurus, leaving no doubt as to who he was talking about. He spoke as though to Tarn, but he looked at Deathsaurus the whole time. “You know some people would adopt _anything_.” 

Deathsaurus knew it wasn’t wise to antagonize Overlord. But a million years as commander of an Empire that his crew had built with their own hands had left him out of practice at bowing his head for a blow, and his thoughts were on Megatron—where he was, what he might be doing—rather than on reining in his bestial instincts. And reining them in took work, because being an animal came naturally to him, while being civilized took effort. 

His beast pounced on his lapse of concentration. It opened his mouth and answered before his higher consciousness could think twice. 

“Not _anything_,” Deathsaurus sneered back. “There’s a certain level of trash even I won’t touch.” 


	5. The Morning Star Fallen from Heaven

Chapter 5: The Morning Star Fallen From Heaven 

Tarn watched Deathsaurus give Overlord his own attitude right back, and couldn’t help but feel a little impressed. 

The moment was ruined by a twist of trepidation turning Tarn’s fuel tanks. Overlord would not take well to being mocked. What would he do next? 

Overlord sauntered right past Deathsaurus and wrapped an arm over Tarn’s shoulders. Tarn froze at the sudden, intense physical contact. Overlord’s side pressed against his, feigning a familiarity between them that didn’t exist. 

Tarn scowled under his mask. This was one of _his _favourite ways to intimidate people. He didn’t like having it used against him. 

He couldn’t bring himself to respond enthusiastically and call Overlord’s bluff, the way Deathsaurus had done to _him_. He knew where that had landed him—in Deathsaurus’s berth. 

“I think I’ll trust Tarn’s standards over yours,” Overlord purred. “He has _taste_.” Overlord lifted his optic ridges, as if to insinuate alternative meanings for his words. 

Tarn almost choked. 

Deathsaurus lifted his head and sniffed, as though he didn’t care what Overlord and Tarn were doing or had done; then his gaze slid off to the left. Tarn felt suddenly hurt. Part of him _wanted _Deathsaurus to react with jealous anger, even though he knew that would be a tactical mistake. 

Overlord whispered in Tarn’s audio. “Are you hoping to _upgrade _ your alliance? I mean, you know what they say. Lie down with the beasts, get up with the scraplets…” 

Tarn wanted to shiver at the very idea of catching the scraplets, but he quashed the urge down. He knew very well what Overlord was trying to do. 

Deathsaurus seemed to know too, because he didn’t bother protesting that he didn’t have scraplets. Instead he folded his arms and tapped his foot as though he was bored by the whole discussion. 

As though disappointed by their lack of response, Overlord upped his game. He released Tarn, stepped closer to Deathsaurus and looked him up and down. “I’ve got to say that you’ve come a long way from the creature that failed the Ambus Test.” 

Tarn still wasn’t confident that he had a good grasp on this _alliance _business, but he did know that he shouldn’t just stand here and listen to Overlord slandering his colleague. “If you’re trying to insult Deathsaurus, you’re wasting your breath,” Tarn said mildly. “The mech has not an ounce of shame.” 

But Tarn’s breath stalled in his intakes, because now he had to trust that Deathsaurus would realize that Tarn’s words were meant to bait Overlord. If Deathsaurus were secretly ashamed of his other form, Tarn’s words might hit the wrong target. 

Overlord turned to Tarn with a truly nasty smile. “It’s not _him_ I’m thinking of, it’s _you_. I mean, you _do _know what you’ve allied yourself with, right?” 

Tarn felt taken aback. What was Overlord getting at? “Deathsaurus is honest to a fault,” Tarn said dryly, “and not one for keeping secrets.” There. Let Overlord think Tarn knew exactly what he was getting at. Maybe Overlord would show more of his hand if Tarn didn’t appear fussed. 

“Ah, but the line between keeping a secret and simply avoiding certain topics is such a fine one.” 

Tarn tried to look bored and not think about what Overlord might be implying. He succeeded at the first, but not the second. Deathsaurus had already shown a tendency to just not mention things he didn’t want to talk about. 

_A matter to set aside for another time._

If there was any truth to Overlord’s words—if Deathsaurus was hiding things from him—he could worry about that later, once Overlord was gone. But Deathsaurus curled his lip, and that slight response was enough for Overlord to pounce. 

Overlord walked over to Tarn with an exaggerated gesture of concern and placed his hand on Tarn’s treaded shoulder. “You, ah,” Overlord said in a conspiratorial whisper, “you _do _know _that’s _his alt mode, right?” 

Deathsaurus stuck his nose—and his helm’s beak—up in the air by way of response. If Tarn had not known Deathsaurus so well, he would not have known the significance of the sudden stiffening of Deathsaurus’s middle wing feathers. 

_Deathsaurus is worried._

_ About…_

It took a moment for Tarn to parse what Overlord had been implying. 

When Tarn understood it, his jaw dropped, but fortunately the mask hid his expression from Overlord. 

Tarn reached into himself, summoning up all his performer’s skill. He loaded his voice with boredom and said in a slow drawl, “Doesn’t everyone? Now, do you have anything _useful _to tell me? Something that isn’t common knowledge? Or are you insinuating that my alliance with Deathsaurus negates our agreement and you’d rather get on with the fight?” 

Yes. Act as though he’d known all along that Deathsaurus had been born a beast and learned to turn into a mech later on. Pretend he knew that when Deathsaurus died, rigor morphis would return him to his preferred mode—his _true self_—the fanged and winged and taloned creature with the sharp beak and long tail. 

_Don’t _ think about the implications of being lovers with such a being. Not now. 

“_Alliance_, he says,” Overlord replied with a smirk. “Are you and I going to have a similar _alliance_? All _three _of us, perhaps?” He waggled his eye ridges suggestively. 

_He knows. Somehow he knows._

_ He knows Deathsaurus and I are lovers._

And why did _that _bother Tarn so much? Was he so ashamed of his lover? 

“Alliances,” Deathsaurus interrupted, “are built on mutual goals and mutual trust. As I understand, your _goals _are centered around violent amusement and begging for Megatron’s attention. Until you learn to place value on something greater than yourself I wouldn’t trust you with the welfare of a turborat.” 

Tarn braced himself. If Overlord reacted badly to Deathsaurus’s unfiltered honesty, Tarn was going to have to use his Voice. It was really the only plausible weapon left in his arsenal. He was fatigued from his fight with Megatron, and his nuke high was already starting to fade. 

He’d accepted all along that he was going to lose teammates when the DJD fought Overlord unless fortune stacked the encounter to their advantage. He’d been so _relieved _to find Overlord already bound and helpless on the _Lost Light_. Until that moment he’d expected that some of his team wouldn’t survive the encounter. Maybe _none _of them. 

And now… 

Now he had _no _team and _no _advantage and he was growing tired. He would have to tune his voice to Overlord’s spark _quickly _and hope that neither he nor Deathsaurus was killed in the meantime. He wondered how long he’d have to talk before the pain overcame Overlord’s strength and will. Or if he’d even be able to concentrate long enough to use his Voice. 

Usually Tarn had his DJD thrash their victims until they were too injured and too weak to fight back any more. Then Tarn was able to fully concentrate on utilizing his vocal talents to finish them off. His Voice didn’t work in a firefight; he simply couldn’t defend himself, mount a physical attack, _and _use his Voice all at the same time. Killing with his words required all-consuming focus. Tarn didn’t dare attempt it until he knew he was in no danger. 

Tarn eyed Overlord again, wondering if he and Deathsaurus could really take on Overlord and then Megatron and expect to win. 

Overlord listened to Deathsaurus, the grin on his lips growing wider and wider until Deathsaurus spat the final word and Overlord burst out laughing while Deathsaurus glared daggers at him out of all four optics. 

“Oh, _Tarn_,” Overlord said, wiping at his optics. “You really _must _tell me what it’s like to share a berth with something that failed the Ambus Test.” 

Deathsaurus glowered. Tarn saw the beastformer’s upper optics flare ruby with fury, but Deathsaurus schooled his face into a perfectly neutral mask. It wasn’t very convincing. Tarn could tell at a glance that Deathsaurus was holding back a whirlwind of rage. 

_Why?_

It wasn’t like Deathsaurus to hold back anything. 

Overlord could clearly sense Deathsaurus’s fraying restraint as easily as Tarn could. . He shook a finger under Deathsaurus’s nose. “Now, now. Tarn will never be able to take you _anywhere _in high society until you learn to bow to your betters.” Then he leaned closer to Tarn, sliding an unwanted hand over Tarn’s chest. Tarn forced himself not to react, when he wanted to shudder and shake him off. 

“You see,” Overlord said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Deathsaurus was created in the same lab that gave me my ununtrium skeleton. That’s how I know that some of the things they learned from _him_, they applied to _me_. You see, _I _was created to be the_perfect Decepticon_…the _ultimate embodiment _of Megatron’s _ideal_.” 

Fortune preserve him, but Tarn couldn’t help but feel a little envious. What would his life have been like if he’d been born with…with everything Overlord had? 

Tarn realized, with a shock, that Megatron could have given him those things. Megatron had given Damus of Tarn a massive frame upgrade, after all. Not just a new head, but a whole new body. Megatron could have done more. If he’d wanted to. 

Maybe he couldn’t have been as tall as Overlord—his tank body was already at the limits of the size his spark could support—but Megatron_could _have given him a ununtrium skeleton. Megatron just _hadn’t_. Instead, he’d given it to a complete maniac: Overlord. 

Tarn had never thought about that before. It took his breath away to think about it now. The pain felt like he’d been gored straight through the spark. 

Hadn’t he _earned _it? 

Hadn’t he done _everything _to be Megatron’s perfect soldier? 

It had cost him everything, to try. 

He deserved the ununtrium more than Overlord did. He was a Point One Percenter _and _an Outlier. He had already proven his loyalty! 

But Megatron had favoured Overlord. 

Tarn realized Megatron’s callousness was still able to hurt him in new and horrific ways. It was all he could do to concentrate on what Overlord was saying. 

“While _Deathsaurus_ here…” Overlord grinned at Deathsaurus, whose neutral mask was rapidly slipping into a deep scowl. “_Deathsaurus _ here was one of a thousand Super MTO prototypes. _Test subjects_. Honestly, he was never intended to stand upright, let alone gain _sentience_. For _some _given value of that word, anyway. When you get right down to it, he’s still just an animal. A beast with delusions of personhood.” 

Tarn saw a drip of energon fall from Deathsaurus’s clenched fist. Then another. 

Overlord wanted to hurt Deathsaurus, and it was working. 

Overlord absolutely deserved the punch in the face that Tarn knew Deathsaurus wanted to deliver. Why was the rogue warlord holding back? 

_His crew_ . 

Tarn knew Deathsaurus well enough to guess. Deathsaurus wouldn’t be afraid of fighting Overlord, no matter how bad the odds. Deathsaurus’s fear would be that Overlord would retaliate, not against him, but against his crew. 

It was why Deathsaurus had swallowed his apprehensions to accept Tarn’s deal. 

It was why Deathsaurus was letting Overlord get away with this abuse now. 

Suddenly, Tarn realized that he’d heard quite enough. 

Tarn leaned into Overlord’s hug, rested his head on Overlord’s shoulder, laced his voice with sweetness and said, “You’re absolutely correct. Deathsaurus must be _quite _the overachiever.” 

Overlord stiffened and drew his arm away. 

Tarn straightened up and turned his body towards Overlord so that he could look him in the optics. He tilted his head and ramped up the poison in his tone. “I mean, you had _all those advantages_ that Megatron just _handed _to you, and Deathsaurus had to scratch and claw his way up after you. Yet here you are, together, both seeking an alliance with me. Like _equals_.” 

Overlord recoiled. “I’m nothing like that _beast_.” 

“Of course not,” Tarn purred, and then he turned off the sweetness, and made his voice sharp and brittle instead. “You had Megatron’s favour, you had _everything, _and you _squandered _it. Deathsaurus had _next to nothing _and built a life for his people with his own hands. Now Deathsaurus has a little Empire and…what do _you_ have, again?” 

Tarn drew breath, waiting to see if Overlord was mad enough to attack him. But Overlord stood paralyzed, his jaw dropped, his mouth gaping. Oh, there would be all hell to pay when Overlord recovered from the shock of having someone speak to him that way. 

Tarn had to finalize the lines of this new alliance. 

“The next time you consider insulting _my field marshal_,” Tarn said, each word a barb laced with poison, “you might do well to remember that _you _are here in this alliance at _our _forebearance and, if you would like any piece of Megatron left for you, you’ll be a bit more _respectful _of the talents we all bring to the table.” 

“Left for me,” Overlord repeated. 

“We’re wasting time,” Tarn murmured. “Fighting amongst ourselves while our common enemy yet breathes. So, a piece for each of us, then, and we all get what we want.” 

“Tarn, the _dealmaker_,” Overlord sneered. “Megatron’s life belongs to _me_.” 

Deathsaurus turned his head towards Tarn. 

Tarn took a deep breath. 

Primus help him, but Overlord was right. Tarn _didn’t _know if he could fire that final, fatal blast and execute Megatron. 

But suddenly he saw that he could turn that liability into an advantage. It was what Deathsaurus would do. 

“I am here to pronounce judgment on Megatron. I don’t need to personally be the executioner.” Tarn folded his arms across his chest. “You see, Overlord, our goals are not incompatible.” 

“So you make a speech and I make my kill.” Overlord stroked his chin. “What does _he _get?” he inquired, gesturing to Deathsaurus. 

“I get this stupid job over with so I can get on with my life,” Deathsaurus retorted. His optics darted sideways again and this time, stayed there. 

Tarn cringed, thankful again for the mask. He was sure Deathsaurus was just venting his frustration with the situation but…surely when he said _getting on with his life_, he didn’t mean leaving Tarn behind? 

That was another matter to settle later, once Megatron was dead. Perhaps Tarn would offer Deathsaurus a formal courtship over the wreckage of Megatron’s cooling corpse. It would be the kind of bloody accomplishment likely to impress a barbarian. And it would give Tarn something to fill the Megatron-shaped void in his spark. 

“Why not.” Overlord’s voice dripped with sardonic amusement. “Let us play at allies for a few moments.” 

“It’s going to take longer than that,” Deathsaurus said grimly. 

Tarn turned to him. “What do you…” 

“It’s Megatron,” Deathsaurus replied. “While we were arguing and distracted, he’s effected his escape. He’s _gone_.” 


	6. The Center Cannot Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone supporting this fic!

Chapter 6: The Center Cannot Hold 

Decepticon Forward Operating Base 

Kaon wished he’d put Deadlock a lot higher on the List. 

He’d wanted to. Megatron had refused. Megatron had still hoped that one of his favourite pets would come to his senses and come crawling back. Megatron had wanted Deadlock on the List to scare him into thinking twice, not to actually have him killed. 

The problem was that Deadlock wasn’t Starscream. The technique that had worked so well on Starscream had not deterred Deadlock in the slightest. Deadlock had reverted to his old name and put on an Autobot badge. 

But he was still every bit the ruthless killer he’d always been. 

Deadlock had thought nothing of grabbing the Pet—a helpless animal—and taking it hostage. He and the Autobot medic had left, taking the Pet with them as insurance against a future attack. 

When Tarn assaulted the fortress at sunset, Deadlock would kill the Pet. Then the DJD would slaughter Deadlock, of course, but he’d go to his death knowing he’d struck a blow against the DJD, a blow that had actually landed. 

It was more than most Decepticons could say. 

“Tarn is going to be pissed,” Helex muttered. “Now the Autobots know where our base is. What if Megatron gets his crew and comes to attack us _here_? _Before _sunset?” He gazed around the emplacement they’d constructed. “You think these Warworld guys are gonna be enough to hold them off?” 

“What do you think this base is for?” Kaon muttered. “We don’t really need a forward operating base. Tarn had us build this structure to lure Megatron out. Megatron isn’t the type to sit and wait to get attacked.” At least, Kaon hoped not. If the Pet was left behind in the fortress, it might actually survive the coming confrontation. “It doesn’t matter what Deadlock tells him.” 

“You shouldn’t have let Deadlock get away,” Helex persisted. “We should have killed him and his medic.” 

“We need to rescue the Pet,” Kaon said, thinking out loud. “We need to get some of these mechanisms…Guyhawk, he’s a unit commander…he could lead a strike on the Necrobot’s fortress.” 

Helex grabbed Kaon’s shoulder and shook it. “Are you crazy? Tarn would never let you do that. You’d risk everything for that…that _spy_?” 

Kaon felt his fuel tank sink. 

The last few years, he’d almost managed to forget that his Pet wasn’t a loving, if feral, creature after all. 

It was Dominus Ambus. 

An Autobot. 

A traitor. 

A spy. 

It didn’t deserve Kaon’s affection. It never had. 

But Kaon cared for it…_him_…just the same. 

Dominus Ambus had worn armour designed to look like a long-term member of the Decepticon movement. He’d slipped into that other mechanism’s identity and claimed his achievements as his own; then he’d built on them. In time, he’d been accepted into the DJD, where he’d been given another new identity: Vos. 

Kaon had never found out what had happened to that original mechanism. Killed by the Autobots, no doubt, and replaced by Dominus Ambus. 

Kaon had historically had a challenging time getting used to new DJD members bearing the same code names as deceased comrades. He’d done his best not to hold it against the new guys. It wasn’t their fault that their code names reminded him of people he’d lost. So he’d gone out of his way to be welcoming to the new Vos. Much to his surprise, the two of them had hit it off with an intensity that took Kaon by surprise. 

Truth be told, Kaon had only felt this sort of emotion once before in his life: with Damus of Tarn, his _amica endura_. Only Kaon’s experience with Vos was somewhat different. Damus was his best friend, but Damus also had his romantic entanglements and his…more _physical _affairs. Kaon had never felt the desire for either of those things. So while Damus was the center of Kaon’s emotional support, Kaon was only one of several people for Damus. 

With Vos, it was the two of them, wholly focused on one another. 

At first, Kaon had feared that Vos would want either romance or interface from him, but when he’d finally summoned the courage to make his feelings clear, Vos had responded enthusiastically and in kind. Vos didn’t want those things either. All he wanted was an extremely close friendship. Something that he didn’t have a word for. Something that fell between amica and conjunx. 

Kaon’s spark had been set spinning. 

They’d used the word _amica _in their ceremony, for lack of anything better. 

Later, of course, Kaon would find out that Dominus Ambus also had a conjunx endura. That he did feel the desire for romance and interface, but he’d set it aside so as not to cheat on his conjunx. As though the intense emotional connection he’d shared with Kaon hadn’t been an emotional affair. 

Kaon supposed spies did what they must to survive. 

He wished he could believe that Dominus Ambus’s feelings for him had been a lie. It would have made the betrayal easier. 

It had been Kaon who’d first suspected that there was a traitor in the DJD. Initially he’d suspected the new Tesarus. Tesarus was impulsive and prone to recklessness when he was bored. Leaks might not even have been intentional. Tesarus could have just slipped up in the heat of one of his online games and blurted out things he should have kept confidential. Kaon had voiced his suspicions to Tarn, and Tarn had investigated, and Vos had been caught. 

Kaon had been torn in half by rage and love. Rage, that wanted Dominus Ambus punished in the worst way that the DJD could devise, for the hurt he’d inflicted on the unit in general and on Kaon in particular. And love, that didn’t want to lose the most important person in his life, no matter what crimes that person had committed. 

Primus help him. Kaon had finally understood the foolish things that Damus had done in the name of love. 

Primus bless the new Vos, the physiotherapist and scientist known as Forestock, for suggesting a most novel solution. 

Forestock had worked with a mech named Demus during the war, a mech who had learned a most interesting technique during his time on Deathsaurus’s Warworld. A technique he’d called _domestication_. He’d taught Forestock how it was done, and Forestock was clearly excited at the prospect of trying it. If it worked, Kaon would be able to keep his companion after all. 

Together, Kaon and Forestock had convinced Tarn that there was no death so exquisite as that of being trapped in one’s alternate form, reduced to a non-sapient beast, save for a little corner in the back of one’s mind that would remain forever aware of what was happening and utterly unable to affect any of it. Tarn had agreed, on the condition that Kaon take responsibility for the creature. 

And Dominus Ambus had become the Pet. 

At first, the Pet had been hostile to everyone. But over time, it had started warming up, first to Kaon, then to the rest of the DJD. Of late, it saved its snarling and slavering for strangers. 

Kaon wasn’t certain if this was just ordinary taming, as might happen to an actual animal, or whether Dominus Ambus still possessed a certain measure of warmth for his amica endura and his former teammates. Because that was the paradox of spycraft, wasn’t it? Comradeship, faked long enough, could become real. And genuine feelings could be rendered irrelevant by the demands of duty. 

Either way, Kaon still had the comfort of his amica’s warmth next to him, the soft reassurance of his Pet’s constant presence. He’d almost convinced himself that all was well. 

Now, Kaon had to face the truth of what he’d created. If the Autobots were able to reverse the domestication, what would happen? Would Vos—Dominus—hate Kaon for what he’d done? 

_Of course he would_ . 

Kaon couldn’t deal with that. He had to find a way to get his Pet back. 

Kaon realized, painfully, that Tarn wasn’t the only mech in the DJD with a gift for self-delusion. 

# 

The fields of Necroworld 

Tarn could hardly believe it. Megatron had disappeared. While he’d been distracted by Overlord and Deathsaurus, Megatron had taken advantage of the situation to creep away. 

To die? Tarn didn’t believe Megatron had fallen _that _far. No, Megatron was a consummate survivor and now Tarn would have to carry out his initial plan and assault the fortress at sunset. 

With Overlord. 

And an increasingly disobedient Deathsaurus. 

Tarn did not want to remember seeing Megatron lying on the ground, battered and leaking after refusing to lift even so much as a fist in his own defense. He would not fight…and he would not recant. In that his will was as strong as ever. 

Tarn felt his spark twist. If he couldn’t convince Megatron with his words, surely he should have been able to Megatron back to his old self by angering him to the point that he fought back. It would have been worth the pain. It would have been a glorious sacrifice. It would have been, Tarn thought, an appropriate way to die. Not an ignominious suicide in a container filled with nuke, but a sacrifice on the altar of the Cause, his life in exchange for his Emperor’s absolution. 

Whose failure was he witnessing here? 

Megatron’s? 

Or his own? 

Either way, this situation had not turned out the way he’d intended. Tarn floundered, treading water, while the tide of events rose relentlessly, taking him farther and farther from shore. 

“Didn’t you notice Megatron escaping?” Overlord chuckled, and Tarn barely held his temper. The one thing that restrained him was the knowledge that Overlord must not have noticed either. No, Overlord wanted Megatron for himself far too much to just let him get away. Overlord was baiting him now solely because he could. 

“Didn’t _you_?” Tarn retorted. 

Megatron was gone. Overlord was laughing at him. His Nuke high was ebbing. He felt sick. 

“My plan remains unchanged,” Tarn said, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. “The DJD and Deathsaurus’s troops will attack the Autobot stronghold at sunset. Overlord, as agreed, you’re welcome to join us for the slaughter. In the meantime, we will go back to the _Peaceful Tyranny _and regroup.” 

“Lovely.” Overlord bowed mockingly. “Shall we?” 

Tarn wouldn’t rise to the bait. He changed shape and began the drive towards the _Peaceful Tyranny. _Deathsaurus changed shape too, flanking him on the right. It wasn’t fair that Deathsaurus’s creature mode could keep pace with his tank form. 

A moment later, Overlord also changed shape. His tank half fell into formation on Tarn’s left while his aircraft half flew lazy circles overhead. 

Tarn pulled deep breaths into his intakes, trying to convince himself everything was okay. Overlord was behaving himself. Deathsaurus seemed supportive. Megatron… 

…Megatron was beyond saving, but Tarn would do the right thing and euthanize his beloved leader. 

It was what the Megatron he knew would have wanted. 

He’d just reached a brief mental equilibrium when Deathsaurus sent him an encoded message on their private comm channel. 

<<My crew want to know why we’re still here. Why we’re still wasting time toying with Megatron when the Galactic Council are inbound. Megatron is surely on his way back to his fortress. We should hunt him down and kill him now. He’s leaking fuel everywhere. I’m sure I can track him by scent.>>__

Tarn was not in the mood to justify himself to Deathsaurus. He responded with an attack of his own. <<How _dare _you trail me.>> 

Deathsaurus turned his head and stared at Tarn for a moment, risking that Overlord might guess that they were leaving him out of a conversation. 

<<My meeting with Megatron was intended to be private,>> Tarn continued. 

Finally, Deathsaurus spoke. <<Were you expecting Overlord?>> Over the comm, Tarn couldn’t tell whether it was an honest question presented with typical Deathsaurus bluntness, or whether Deathsaurus was scolding him for failing to consider the possibility that Megatron might have been leading him into a trap. 

Tarn raised his tank cannon proudly. <<I can handle Overlord.>> 

<<You told me you executed him.>> 

Truth be told, Tarn had no idea how Overlord was still alive. He wondered if it was the Nuke, affecting his recollection of events. He could have _sworn _he’d sawed Overlord’s brain in two. 

Deathsaurus resumed his silent stare. Tarn’s fuel tank turned over. He was playing the role of the invincible judge as though it were the truth, and he knew he was feigning it, and apparently Deathsaurus knew it too. 

Tarn had spent so much of his life, as they said in the theatre, faking it until he ended up making it. Deathsaurus would say that Tarn’s mouth was writing cheques his frame couldn’t cash. 

Thinking of failure made Tarn afraid, and fear made him angry. But he dared not use his Voice when Overlord could hear. <<You will _not _ interfere with me again.>> 

Anyone else would have cowered beneath his onslaught. Anyone but Megatron, Overlord, and apparently, Deathsaurus. Deathsaurus turned his head away. <<If you expect me to apologize for caring about your welfare, you’ll wait an eternity for it.>> Then the comm dissolved into static. Deathsaurus had closed the connection from his end. 

Funny. Tarn had always wanted someone to show some concern for him. So why did it leave him feeling so angry with Deathsaurus now? 


	7. Vexed to Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you W.B. Yeats & "The Second Coming" for some recent chapter titles...

Chapter 7: Vexed to Nightmare 

The _Peaceful Tyranny_

Medbay 

Nickel’s devotion to Tarn could not be questioned. Without him, she would have died in the wreckage of the hospital on Prion. Without him, she would not have a chance of taking vengeance on the Black Block Consortia, who’d slaughtered her people. The DJD were her everything, now. 

Yet she was also growing quite fond of Deathsaurus. 

At first, she’d known only what the DJD had told her about him. Deathsaurus was a criminal; just one more traitor on the List. The DJD were going to offer him a pardon in exchange for using him and his troops as cannon fodder. It seemed like an elegant solution to their firepower problem. The Warworld crew would augment the DJD’s combat strength and, in exchange, they’d be offered the opportunity for an honourable death rather than a shameful execution. 

She knew exactly when view of him had changed. 

The DJD had been aboard the Warworld for perhaps two weeks when Nickel had found herself unable to enter recharge. That happened quite a bit, and when it did, she usually went to the _Peaceful Tyranny_’s lounge, hoping that Tesarus was up late playing video games or Kaon had woken up early to review administrative files. The background noise of other living mechanisms going about their lives soothed her, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. Reassuring her that the fall of Prion wasn’t still happening, now, in the present. 

That night, though, the lounge had been empty. Silent. Hollow. Like the corridors in the hospital on Prion, when Nickel had rolled frantically through the halls, looking into every open doorway, calling until her voxcoder burned out, seeking even one other living thing and finding nothing but corpse after corpse. 

She’d rolled down the gangplank and into the Warworld, fleeing the demons in her memories, and she’d rolled right into Deathsaurus, prowling the halls in his creature mode. He’d sniffed her once and then he’d changed shape and tilted his head and said, “Bad night?” 

She’d never forget how her hide had prickled, or how Tarn had complained that Deathsaurus had an uncanny way of sensing the sorts of things that most people tried to hide. Deathsaurus was so perceptive that he was dangerous. 

As usual, Nickel had smothered her fear with bluster. She’d put her hands on her hips and sneered, “What’s it to you?” 

He’d simply looked back at her and said, point-blank, “It’s a bad one for me.” 

For him it was that simple. No shame. No stigma. No hesitance, no fear. Just _it’s a bad night for me_—as though that were common. Normal, even. 

She’d nodded her agreement, unable to manage words. 

“I don’t like to be alone on the bad ones,” he’d said, and it sounded like an offering. It was as though he was telling her it was okay to voice everything she was afraid to say or even think. 

She’d nodded again. 

“What do you need to feel safe?” he asked. 

Nickel had almost broken down sobbing right then, but she’d managed to keep her composure, though her voice had been flat when she’d said, “Not being alone.” 

His gaze had grown distant when he’d replied. “Me too. And it helps me when I see the stars. Do you want to go to the observation deck and watch the stars with me?” 

“Okay,” she’d said, but with reservations, fearing that these words might be a euphemism for something else. 

They were not. Deathsaurus was a very literal person. They’d gone to the deck and sat on a couch and looked out at the endless universe, and Deathsaurus had brought tarps and made warm energon, and Nickel had curled up and sipped her drink and appreciated having a very large and fierce warlord watching over her, even if he wasn’t part of the DJD. She’d finally drifted into recharge, and when she woke up in the morning, she’d found her head resting on Deathsaurus’s creature-mode tail. 

That day she’d educated herself about Deathsaurus’s crimes. Grand theft Warworld, the DJD’s files said. Mutiny, treason, corruption of others. But all he’d done had been to protect his crew. His _people_. Deathsaurus had done nothing wrong. He’d only been on the List because Megatron had resented his disobedience. 

Then Megatron had betrayed the entire Decepticon movement. Tarn had not seen Megatron’s betrayal coming. Deathsaurus had sensed it two million years before it happened. 

So Nickel had been delighted when Tarn began developing affections for Deathsaurus. Maybe he could help Tarn forget about his feelings for Megatron. Deathsaurus was a good mechanism; loyal, caring, honourable. She’d thought Tarn had finally started to make some healthier life choices. She knew Tarn had demons of his own. 

But one call on a private comm—which Tarn had kept, _despite _ Megatron’s betrayal—and Tarn had abandoned Deathsaurus and gone running to Megatron. 

Nickel feared that meeting would not end well. 

That was why she was in the _Peaceful Tyranny_’smedbay with Glit, checking and re-checking her preparations for the worst. 

Glit sidled nervously. “Any word from Tarn?” 

Nickel looked at her colleague. She still wasn’t particularly fond of Deathsaurus’s CMO, the sepulchral Requiem, or his equally disconcerting associates, Mortua and Despoiler, but she’d taken a bit of a liking to the felinoid pacifist. 

Not that she agreed with his philosophy. Definitely not. No amount of peaceful resistance had or could have saved her colleagues and friends and family on Prion. The universe needed people like the DJD, to take vengeance when defenders failed. 

She did, however, find herself in full agreement with his current unease. “Not yet. But don’t worry. Tarn knows what he’s doing.” 

Yes. She had to trust Tarn. He’d known what to do when he found her in the wreckage of the hospital on Prion. He knew what he was doing now. 

_ Did he know what he was doing when he almost killed himself with a Nuke overdose? _

“The crew are uneasy.” Glit put his tail between his hind legs. “They’re wondering why we’re still here.” 

Nickel frowned. “They’re not talking mutiny, are they?” 

“No. But Deathsaurus isn’t answering my comms.” 

Nickel attempted to overlook why Glit was messaging Deathsaurus in the first place, but her disapproval must have shown on her face, because Glit explained himself. “Look, Megatron is dangerous and if we need to send out a rapid-response medical team, we need some kind of armed escort or we could drive straight into an ambush.” 

Nickel reminded herself that she was used to patching up the DJD after they came in from the field, whereas Glit was used to going out onto the field himself to rescue the fallen. It made her fuel tank quiver. She didn’t know if she could go out under enemy fire to help the DJD, or if memories of Prion would paralyze her with fear. 

_If they need you, you have to go._

_ You can’t let your friends die. Not if you have the ability to save them. That’s not how this works. _

The door of the medbay slammed open and Kaon burst in, looking haggard, with Vos on his heels. “Where’s Tarn? He’s not answering my comms.” 

“Deathsaurus, either.” Glit darted over to a console. “Lyzack, this is Glit. We suspect interference with our personal comm units.” 

Nickel didn’t care about jamming right now. Kaon was breathing air into his intakes much too fast, and his body temperature was far too high. “Kaon, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you at the forward command post with Helex?” 

“It’s Deadlock and Ratchet. They’ve taken the Pet hostage.” 

Nickel’s head throbbed; Kaon was bombarding his surroundings with high-frequency sonics. 

Kaon continued, “We need to rescue him! We can’t attack the fortress until he’s safe, and Tarn won’t answer my comms, and I can’t raise Deathsaurus either, and where’s Tarn?” 

_Calm down_ , Vos said, but Kaon shoved him away. 

Lyzack’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Negative, Glit. There’s no jamming in effect. Though I am picking up a strange signal. Stand by.” 

Nickel stood stricken. “Tarn’s ignoring us.” 

“Or in trouble. It’s not like Deathsaurus to ignore…Wait.” Glit paused, listening. “That’s Deathsaurus. He says he and Tarn are inbound with a new ally.” Glit’s tail slid back between his legs. “Overlord.” 

Nickel frowned and turned to Vos. “Didn’t you say you killed this Overlord person?” 

Vos hissed in confusion. _Tarn sawed his brain in half._

Kaon wrung his hands hands and sent out another barrage of sonics. “If Tarn won’t talk to me, I’m going to get some of the Warworld troops and storm the fortress right now.” 

_Tarn will be angry_ , Vos said. 

“I don’t care!” Kaon wailed. 

_This is dangerous! Madness!_

Kaon turned towards the exit, flailing, obviously too distraught to think rationally. 

Nickel was no strategist, but even she knew that was a bad idea. Kaon was not thinking clearly. He was panicking, and he was about to do something reckless and put his life at risk. His life, and those of whatever troops he took with him. 

Nickel’s medical oath had made her swear first to do no harm. 

She had no ethical qualms about loading a syringe with sedative and firing it into Kaon’s unprotected back. 

# 

The fields of Necroworld, approaching the _Peaceful Tyranny_

Tarn’s comm chimed. A message. He glanced at the sender, feeling this sudden irrational hope that it was Megatron…but it wasn’t. It was Nickel. 

<<We have a problem. The Autobots have taken the Pet hostage.>> 

Tarn felt irritated. He didn’t care about the traitor Dominus Ambus right now. What did it matter if the Autobots killed him? Really, the DJD ought to have killed him long ago. He only survived because Kaon had begged so hard to be allowed to keep him. 

Frankly, Tarn had been jealous of the former Vos. Tarn liked being the center of Kaon’s world. Just as he’d made himself Pharma’s chief preoccupation, and taken over the lives of his other little playmates as well. His life revolved around Megatron, and his associates’s lives revolved around him. That was natural and as it should be. 

Except for Deathsaurus and his frustrating loyalty to his crew. Deathsaurus would not let Tarn monopolize his attention or his affection. It was infuriating. Really, Deathsaurus was more trouble than he was worth. 

Good riddance to Kaon’s other close companion. Tarn would have Kaon’s full devotion back again, at least. 

It might be a consolation if things with Deathsaurus fell apart. 

<<Not a concern,>> Tarn replied. 

<<It is. I had to sedate Kaon.>> 

Tarn felt his fuel tank turn over uneasily. <<Sedate?>> 

<<He’s adamant about rescuing the Pet before we attack the fortress.>> 

<<That’s preposterous. We don’t have time to do that and even if we did, we’re not putting this operation on hold to rescue a lobotomized traitor. Particularly not in front of Deathsaurus and Overlord.>> 

<<Overlord? Didn’t you execute him?>> 

<<Apparently our execution was unsuccessful. He’s here for the same reason we are: to kill Megatron. Though I do not entirely trust him to behave himself.>> 

<<You said _not in front of Deathsaurus_.>> 

<<You know what the Pet really is. What we did to the traitor Dominus Ambus.>> 

<<I trust you had good reason.>> 

<<We will never convince Deathsaurus of that.>> His optics slid sideways. Deathsaurus was looking straight ahead, pointedly ignoring both Tarn and Overlord. <<Vos—Forestock—learned the domestication technique from a fellow named Demus. Demus was once one of Deathsaurus’s troops. Demus learned it from examining Esmeral. Esmeral had been domesticated and enslaved by aliens. Deathsaurus hates Demus with an abiding passion and despises all forms of slavery. Do you see where I’m going with this?>> 

<<You don’t want Deathsaurus to know what you did to the Pet.>> 

<<Honestly, I’d rather the Autobots take care of that problem for me.>> 

<<It’s not good to keep secrets from your partner.>> 

Tarn felt a flash of irritation. <<He’s constantly keeping secrets from me. His real name. His true form. A thousand and one contingency plans to fight us.>> 

<<He’s afraid he can’t trust you.>> 

_Well, not if he keeps putting his crew ahead of me_ , Tarn thought, and then realized that perhaps Deathsaurus was right to be cautious. And hated himself for it. 

Nickel continued, <<It might not be rational. It might be trauma-related.>> 

<<I don’t have time for Deathsaurus’s _feelings _right now.>> Tarn was far too overwhelmed by his own. 

<<Fine.>> Tarn wondered if Nickel was as irritated as the comm made her seem. <<What do we do about Kaon?>> 

<<Keep him sedated. If he’s not in any state to carry out the battle plan then it’s better to keep him knocked out. The last thing he needs to do is draw Overlord’s attention. That mechanism will pounce on any weakness. If he can’t see one, he’ll push until he finds one.>> 

<<And we’re allied with this horrible person, why?>> 

<<Because we kill Megatron first. Perhaps we kill Overlord second.>> 

Tarn wondered if Deathsaurus would let the DJD use his troops in a fight against Overlord. Somehow, he doubted it. Not if retreat was any kind of option. 

Tarn continued, <<Tell Tesarus and Vos to gather the Warworld troops. I don’t want to loiter around with Overlord. He’ll just start trouble. We regroup, we organize and we go to finish this.” 

Before Deathsaurus could have any more misgivings. 

<<Tarn, out,>> he said, and ended the comm before Nickel could have misgivings either. 

Tarn took a deep breath. He would take the next few hours one step at a time. He would focus on the most immediate tasks at hand. He would get through this by viewing it as one more execution—entirely by the book—and maybe that way, he could avoid any misgivings of his own. 


	8. Passionate Intensity

Chapter 8: Passionate Intensity 

Deathsaurus didn’t like the idea of Overlord anywhere near his troops. 

Many of Deathsaurus’s troops were what the regular Decepticon army would have called misfits. Deathsaurus had collected people that nobody else had wanted and given them a family and a place to belong. The majority of them had risen to the occasion, and Deathsaurus loved them fiercely. 

Overlord would exploit any weakness he could find for no reason that Deathsaurus could discern other than his own sadistic amusement. 

It was why Deathsaurus hated Overlord with such a passion. Overlord added nothing of value to the universe. He existed only to take pleasure in the misery of others. 

Deathsaurus had once thought the same thing of Tarn. His loathing of Tarn had started to ebb when he realized that Tarn cared for his own team. Whether that affection could stand up against Tarn’s fraught history with Megatron, Deathsaurus did not know. 

And Deathsaurus was not inclined to gamble his family’s welfare on the answer. 

When they arrived at the _Peaceful Tyranny_, sure enough, Overlord began making unwelcome comments on the state of Deathsaurus’s forces. Deathsaurus ignored them—or tried to. Truthfully, he was less bothered by Overlord’s bad behaviour than he was by the fact that Tarn didn’t even bother to stand up for his crew. Some ally Tarn was. 

While Overlord taunted Tarn, Lyzack slunk up to Deathsaurus, put a hand on his arm, and motioned her head. She wanted to speak in private. 

Deathsaurus followed her to a room where she activated a short-range jammer to ensure their conversation would remain confidential. 

“Lyzack,” Deathsaurus said. “What is it?” 

Truth be told, Deathsaurus was worried about Lyzack. It was her encryption that Kaon had hacked in order to give Tarn access to the Warworld’s inter-Decepticon radio and bring the Warworld crew to their knees. Lyzack had worked day and night to improve their radio security ever since. Deathsaurus feared she blamed herself for letting the Warworld down, even though he was well aware that Kaon was a consummate codebreaker. 

“I intercepted a communication between Overlord and…” Lyzack bit her lip. “General Neech of the Galactic Council.” 

Deathsaurus’s wings stiffened. That was an angle he hadn’t considered. A renegade like Overlord, taking orders from aliens? But it explained where Overlord had come from. He wasn’t Megatron’s ally, and he hadn’t shown up here on his own in some massive coincidence. He’d been brought here by the Galactic Council. 

That meant that the Galactic Council’s troops weren’t inbound. They were already _here._

“Here’s the text and an audio file.” Lyzack handed Deathsaurus a datapad. “In brief, Overlord reported in to General Neech that he was on planet. Neech informed Overlord that he wishes to see footage of Megatron’s execution. Then Neech reminded Overlord that his repairs are the doing of the Galactic Council and that they wish to see a return on their investment.” 

“Then that explains why Overlord is intact when Tarn thought he’d executed him. The Galactic Council must have found some way of putting him back together.” 

“And after he’s through with Megatron…” 

Deathsaurus knew precisely what she was thinking. “Then the Galactic Council turn their attack dog on their next target. Which, in all likelihood, is _us_.” 

Lyzack’s optics shimmered. “Deathsaurus, what do we _do_?” 

Deathsaurus set his jaw. “When we assault the fortress, I want you to stay behind and monitor the comms. If Neech gives Overlord an attack order, we need to know. I’m going to comm Esmeral on the Warworld and tell her to get her crew to prep the Warworld for a fast departure. I’ll leave Thunderblast and her squadron at the shuttles, standing by for evac. Drillhorn will review our battle plans to counter Overlord. Our goal is not to fight him. We will do what we must to get away and avoid being sucked into a second battle against Overlord and the Council.” 

Lyzack wrung her hands. “What about Tarn and the DJD?” 

Deathsaurus stared back for only a moment before his defiance collapsed in the face of his sister’s concern. “I hope they come with us,” he said softly. 

# 

Tarn was quickly growing weary of Overlord’s taunting. 

_ Dealmaker. Compromiser. When did you get so conciliatory? When did you start allying yourself with the dregs of the Decepticon army—the scraps Deathsaurus gathered up when everyone else threw them away? _

_ You’re not going to go soft on Megatron, are you?_

With that line, Overlord cut right to the heart of Tarn’s greatest fear. That he wouldn’t be able to kill Megatron. That he wouldn’t be able to let Overlord do it, either. 

Tarn was afraid that he was making exactly the same mistake that Megatron had made. He’d surrounded himself with misfits and losers and developed some kind of _attachment_ to them, and that attachment was making him weak. Look at what Megatron had been reduced to. A pathetic lump that _felt _instead of _fought_. 

Maybe it wasn’t Megatron’s betrayal that had undone the DJD, after all. Maybe it was Tarn’s foolish affection for Deathsaurus. 

After all, look at what Deathsaurus’s devotion to his crew had cost _ him_. 

Tarn called Tesarus over and foisted Overlord off on the grinder mech. Tesarus would _love _listening to Overlord’s stories—the more gruesome, the better—and Overlord would thrive on the attention. Tarn needed to talk to Deathsaurus. 

At first he couldn’t find Deathsaurus, but then a door down the hallway slid open and Deathsaurus stepped out with Lyzack at his side. 

“Can I have a word?” Tarn asked. 

Deathsaurus nodded to Lyzack. Lyzack looked fretful; then she turned and slunk back into the room and shut the door after her. Tarn immediately felt suspicious. What had those two been talking about? 

“Yes?” Deathsaurus asked. 

Tarn chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to suggest that he thought Overlord possessed anything even slightly resembling a good _point._

“Do you ever wonder,” he began, “what you could be if you weren’t beholden to your crew?” 

Deathsaurus looked at him sharply. “If they weren’t holding me back, you mean.” 

That _was _what Tarn meant, but Deathsaurus’s tone made it clear that he wasn’t impressed by the question. Tarn softened his approach. “I don’t bear them ill will. I just… That Leozack, he’s made it clear how badly he wants to be leader. Why not…_let him_? Put him in charge of your Warworld. Let him look after the others for a while. Spread your wings and see what you might achieve when your life is your own.” 

Deathsaurus threw back his head and laughed. 

Tarn felt his fuel tank sink. He wasn’t in on the joke. By now, though, he knew that Deathsaurus’s laughter was ironic, not insane. There was some other factor at play that Tarn wasn’t aware of, and it made Tarn’s suggestion come across as ludicrous to Deathsaurus’s sensibilities. Tarn couldn’t begin to guess what it might be. 

Deathsaurus broke off his laughter, stared Tarn in the optics and let him have it. 

“I _know _what I’d be without them. I might not remember my birth, Tarn, but I do have two million years of memories. In my earliest recollections, I’m alone. A solitary predator rampaging through the Autobot lines by night, and come morning, screaming its insensate rage at the lonely stars. Until I found Leozack and Lyzack, every day was as bloody and meaningless as the day before.” He shook his head. “Tarn, I already know what I’d be if I didn’t have my crew, and it felt like living in the heart of the Pit. I did not fight for two million years to end up precisely where I began.” 

That was it, then. That was really it. No matter what happened with Megatron or Overlord, Deathsaurus would never put Tarn’s mission—or Tarn—above his crew. There was no way Tarn could send Deathsaurus’s troops into the line of fire and expect Deathsaurus to stand back with him and watch the carnage. His loyalty was to them, not to Tarn. 

An ember of rage flared in Tarn’s guts. __

_ Betrayal._

_ First Megatron, then Deathsaurus._

To make matters worse, Deathsaurus’s upper optics narrowed, regarding Tarn suspiciously. Tarn swore he felt the brush of some kind of radar ping against his frame. Deathsaurus was examining him. 

Deathsaurus didn’t trust him. 

Megatron, their opponent. Overlord, the wild card. Tarn couldn’t go into this coming battle uncertain of Deathsaurus’s loyalties. 

Tarn realized he’d done something stupid. 

It had taken _how long _for his alliance with Deathsaurus to go from begrudging necessity to growing mutual respect to…affection, certainly. If not _more_. But even as Deathsaurus lost his heart, he hadn’t lost his head. Guarded to the point of paranoia, Deathsaurus had contingency plans and escape routes galore, as though he thought it inevitable that Tarn might one day turn on him. 

And Tarn had just given him reason to believe that such a day might come. 

Deathsaurus’s optics flashed. He spoke slowly, coldly. “If you intend to_separate _me from my crew, I can assure you that will _never_ happen, not in…” 

Tarn’s mind raced. He had to distract Deathsaurus from this line of thinking. Maybe suggest that Deathsaurus had misunderstood him, and he’d really meant something else. 

But what? 

An idea sprang to his thoughts. 

He hoped he still had half the improv skills he’d possessed as a young actor and singer. 

“Forgive me my foolishness,” Tarn said, hanging his head. “I thought…I hoped…” He schooled his features into a look of anguish, hoping his optics could convey the sentiment even through his mask. He looked up at Deathsaurus with a calculated plea. “It’s silly, for me to think that I might ever be with someone who’d put _me _first in his life.” 

Deathsaurus’s optics widened. Poor Deathsaurus. He looked absolutely taken aback, and Tarn was certain the expression was an honest reflection of his true sentiments. 

Then Deathsaurus took a step forward and placed his hands on Tarn’s shoulders. “This is about when we’re done here, isn’t it?” he asked gently. “This is about what kind of new day might dawn tomorrow.” 

Tarn felt the slow, hot slide of satisfaction through his neural net. Deathsaurus was buying his act. Tarn was achieving precisely the result he intended. 

An instant later, the pleasure was swallowed up by a chasm of self-loathing that opened under Tarn’s spark. 

_For once, someone actually seems to care about you, and _ this _is what you do?_

Deathsaurus continued, “Tarn…Damus… I don’t know who taught you about relationships, but whoever it was, they lied to you. Love isn’t about sacrificing everything and everyone you care about for one person’s pleasure. Love is about…” He paused, looking for words. “It’s about when you and someone else are better together than you are apart. You come together and make a third thing, a partnership, that’s bigger than both of you.” 

Tarn felt his fuel tank turn over. 

Megatron _had _lied to him. Let him astray. 

What might _Damus of Tarn _become in a world where Deathsaurus was right? 

Tarn’s imagination balked. 

“I can’t think about that right now,” Tarn blurted, realizing to his horror that he was speaking out loud, and that the words he was speaking were the unvarnished truth. “I have to stay focused on Megatron. He…we need to end him. Not just for vengeance or even justice. Because that _thing _I spoke to next to the statue, that wasn’t the Megatron I knew.” 

Tarn found himself unable to stop talking. “He told me the Autobots are drugging him. But he doesn’t even _care. _They _broke _him, Deathsaurus. He says he’d rather be what he is now than his old self, even if it _is _all chemical induced.” Tarn drew a ragged breath. “The _real _Megatron would want me to put that thing out of his misery.” 

Deathsaurus nodded. “And I’ll help you. As long as it doesn’t expose my crew to unnecessary risk. That’s all I ask. Our people can handle the Autobots, while you, me, and Overlord finish Megatron. And let’s do it fast. Before the Galactic Council make a move.” 

Tarn breathed a sigh of relief. “Perhaps then I’ll be in a frame of mind to consider what my role is in a world without Megatron.” He paused. “What _we _are. Or could be. Together.” 

It didn’t matter that he’d deceived Deathsaurus. He wouldn’t do it any longer. Right now the only stable force in his life was the Warworld Commander. Together, they’d lay Megatron to rest, and deal with Overlord, and then…then Tarn could spend the rest of his life making it up to Deathsaurus, striving to be the kind of partner that Deathsaurus deserved. 

# 

The Necrobot’s fortress 

Sunset 

The good things in Deathsaurus’s life rarely lasted. 

Just an hour ago, back at the _Peaceful Tyranny_, Deathsaurus had dared to hope that Tarn genuinely wanted a future with him. Yes, Tarn had some twisted ideas about how relationships ought to work, but Deathsaurus believed they could work through all that so long as Tarn was willing to respect his boundaries and meet him halfway. 

Yet as their forces approached the Necrobot’s fortress, Deathsaurus saw Tarn take two syringes from his subspace, contemplate them, put one away, and inject the other into the intake ports of his right forearm. 

Deathsaurus had been very forgiving of a lot of bad behaviour on Tarn’s part. Perhaps too forgiving. If Tarn was impaired, then it was more important than ever that Deathsaurus be rational during the upcoming battle. 

Yet Deathsaurus would be the first mech to admit that he was an animal at heart, and much as he valued logic, he would always give priority to his instincts. He didn’t think of his instincts as magical or divine. They were his subconscious thoughts, processed at a speed that his higher mind could not keep up with. In the heat of battle there was often no time to carefully parse a situation. His instincts warned him and he acted. Later, he puzzled out the reason. 

Right now, his instincts were telling him that something was amiss on the battlefield. 

For the first time in a long time, he ignored that voice in the back of his thoughts. His conscious mind knew that fifteen-odd rag-tag Autobots were no match for his battle-hardened troops. Megatron had not yet taken the field, but that wasn’t surprising: Megatron had always used his troops to soften up the enemy first. The Decepticons just needed to keep up the pressure and the Autobots’ defenses would crumble. Then the Decepticons could bring the fight to Megatron. 

Deathsaurus ignored his instincts long enough for his rational mind to analyze the situation and flash a scathing report across his consciousness. 

These Autobots should _not _be capable of this level of resistance. 

Ultra Magnus—where had he gotten that huge frame upgrade? –was a serious threat, as were Cyclonus and Whirl. Rodimus was not to be underestimated either. But the rest of them? A data stick, a metallurgist, a mnemosurgeon? How were they cutting lines through the Decepticon front? How had the mnemosurgeon just knocked Overlord flying with a single punch? 

There were also Autobots that Deathsaurus didn’t recognize. Two femmes and a little blue and white car. At first glance, none of them appeared to be combat specialists either. Yet their appearances were deceiving. The little car was easily the most lethal of them all. 

And _Deadlock _was here. Where had he come from? One of the Decepticons’s most deadly fighters, the turncoat was fighting for the Autobots now, laying waste on the battlefield. 

Deathsaurus saw his troops staggering back, clutching severed arms and injured legs, repelled by the fury of the Autobots’s attack. 

Continuing this battle was foolishness. The Decepticons would rack up casualties without coming any closer to understanding how the Autobots had developed these unexpected upgrades, or knowing how to counter them. The smart thing would be to withdraw and investigate the situation. Deathsaurus would get Nickel and Glit to analyze some of the Autobots’s spilled fuel. He suspected their augmented abilities might be related to…whatever Tarn and the DJD did to enhance their performance before a big fight. Perhaps that substance that Tarn had injected. 

He hoped the DJD would help with the analysis. Surely Tarn would trust him with their classified information now that the battle against Megatron was at stake. 

Fortune help them, what if _Megatron _was boosting up on performance enhancers right now? 

“We’ve been played,” Deathsaurus said to Tarn. 

Tarn ignored him. He activated his speakers and began blasting the Empyrean Suite across the battlefield, as though the DJD were closing in for the kill rather than stumbling back into defensive formations. 

“Something’s wrong. The Autobots shouldn’t be capable of this level of resistance. _Tarn_,” Deathsaurus said, but Tarn pretended he didn’t hear. He stepped away from Deathsaurus, towards the closest enemy: Ravage. 

Fury flashed through Deathsaurus’s systems, but he knew the rage was only a cover for his true feelings: anxiety and fear. Deathsaurus moved closer to Nickel. “How do I get Tarn to _listen _to me?” 

Nickel activated her comm unit. “Tarn? _Tarn_. Tarn, this is Nickel. Please respond.” 

Vos changed shape and muttered something. 

Nickel frowned. “Vos says Tarn won’t listen to anyone when he gets like this.” 

“Is it that drug?” Deathsaurus asked. 

Nickel’s face fell. 

Right. He was being tactless again. 

“I saw him inject it before the battle,” Deathsaurus explained, “and it has physical effects. His fuel pump runs too fast, and his optics burn too brightly, and it…it has a _scent_, Nickel. Like Nucleon, but sour. It also seems to make him short tempered.” Deathsaurus had no time to apologize for being unpleasantly perceptive. He needed answers. 

“No,” Nickel said slowly. “At least, I don’t think so. The N…the drug makes them more impulsive, but it’s not as though Tarn isn’t stubborn dead sober.” 

“_Them_.” Deathsaurus didn’t miss the pronoun. “All the DJD?” 

Nickel sighed. “Except me.” 

“This situation is rapidly spiraling out of control. Tarn doesn’t have anyone’s best interests in mind, including his own.” 

Nickel clenched her hands into fists. “Is it treacherous of me to agree with you?” 


	9. The Tragic Hero

Chapter Nine: The Tragic Hero 

Nickel felt sick. It was not for the reason she’d thought. 

She’d thought that she’d be frightened to be on the battlefield. She hadn’t seen combat since the fall of Prion. Even then, “combat” really wasn’t the right word for her last battlefield experience. “Slaughter” would be more appropriate. 

Nickel had not been a soldier. She’d been at work in the hospital, seeing patients, on a normal, average workday. 

By the time someone in her department had brought in a holoprojector and tuned it to the news, the Black Block Consortia had already taken over several of the outlying towns, established a beachhead, and pressed their attack into the surrounding areas. It was not long after that when the evacuation orders sounded. But there had been nowhere to go. The Consortia shot down every shuttle that attempted to leave the planet. 

The DJD had taught Nickel how to shoot. She wasn’t sure if they hoped the self-defense skills would help her to feel better, or if they just wanted to include her in their training activities. But, until today, they’d never taken her into the field. She usually waited in the _Peaceful Tyranny _for them to return. 

Vos had promised to stay with her today, and she felt grateful to him for that. She might have become a pretty good marksmech, but she didn’t have the frame for hand to hand combat against anyone save the smallest minibot. She could do more damage with Vos, sniping enemies from a distance. 

She’d actually been doing pretty well. She’d gotten in some good shots. She felt comparatively safe, even though Vos had warned her that enemies often targeted snipers. She discovered she rather enjoyed being able to do actual harm to enemies, instead of simply being terrorized by them. 

Nickel knew she didn’t have enough combat experience to be able to make good judgments about the battle as a whole. She would concentrate on her own particular contribution—sniping—and leave it to the professionals, like Tarn or Deathsaurus, to tell her how those skills should best be used. 

So it wasn’t that Nickel didn’t notice the Autobots tearing through the ranks of the Warworld troops. It was that she wasn’t well enough versed in combat to know that their abilities were unusual. Her definition of _normal _had been skewed by training with the extremely powerful warriors of the DJD. These Autobots might be as powerful as Helex or Tesarus, but they were still outnumbered thirty-to-one. 

Then Nickel thought about the _Lost Light_. The ship where the DJD claimed to have slaughtered everyone aboard. The DJD had been outnumbered forty-to-one, and they’d still killed the entire crew. 

But they’d acted strange after that battle. That was when Nickel had first started suspecting that Tarn’s _performance enhancers _were stronger than the stimtabs Nickel added to her morning energon. The fact that Overlord was alive and well, despite the DJD claiming to have sawed his brain in half, along with a bunch of allegedly dead Autobots including the infamous Deadlock, made Nickel worry. Was it possible the drugs had made the DJD miscalculate who was dead and who wasn’t, or worse, hallucinate the entire encounter? 

Nickel took a look through Vos’s scope and squeezed off a shot. It missed, probably because Nickel’s full attention wasn’t on her target. It was on the number of wounded Decepticons around her target. She was going to have a lot of work to do in the coming days. Worse, she could see Glit, taking fire from the Autobots while paws-deep in a severely injured Decepticon’s chest. 

Nickel’s fuel tank turned over. 

Glit was a medic, doing a medic’s job. What was she? 

She belonged down there, trying to save lives. Not up here with a weapon. She glanced at Tarn, hoping he would tell her that the battle would soon be over. 

Tarn appeared to be absolutely fine, calm and in control, as he blasted at the Autobots with his twin fusion cannons. Still, it was possible that the drugs might be skewing his perceptions or impairing his ability to analyze properly. 

And he was ignoring Deathsaurus. 

When Deathsaurus spoke, Nickel felt her fuel lines turn to ice. 

Deathsaurus was a highly experienced soldier, and he thought something was wrong. And Tarn wasn’t listening to him. And Deathsaurus knew about the performance enhancers. 

Nickel knew where her loyalty lay. The DJD had saved her life, given her a purpose, provided her with a new family. 

But Tarn had also lied to her and kept secrets from her. He’d left the DJD hanging to indulge in his private fixation with Megatron. He hadn’t listened to Tesarus about the storm shield, he wouldn’t listen to anyone about going to see Megatron, and now he was ignoring Deathsaurus’s concerns about the battle. 

And then there was the torture. It had gone against everything she did as a medic, but Tarn had said it was necessary. She’d accepted his words at face value. Now, though, she wondered: if Tarn lied about some things, would he lie about others? 

Meanwhile, down below, Decepticons were dying. 

A powerful wave of guilt wracked Nickel’s systems, threatening to drown her under its weight. No matter what she did, she was going to do something wrong. It was unthinkable to repay her rescuer and saviour with betrayal. She _knew _how Tarn reacted to betrayal. It hurt him so deeply. Then he hurt everyone around him. 

But it was also unthinkable to betray her new protector—Deathsaurus—or to stand back and let good Decepticons get killed. 

Suddenly, there was a roar of noise from below. 

“What’s happening?” Nickel asked. 

Deathsaurus’s hands furled into fists. “Megatron has taken the field.” 

Nickel felt a shiver run through her. She wanted to believe that it was excitement and hope. Once Tarn killed Megatron, he’d stabilize back into the mechanism who’d rescued her on Prion. Not the impulsive, bloody-minded, erratic person he’d become since he’d first found out that his idol had fallen. 

She didn’t want to remember that the Nuke binge and alleged slaughter aboard the other _Lost Light_ had taken place before Tarn had found out about the betrayal. 

Nickel was afraid that her shiver was one of apprehension. 

She recited Deathsaurus’s words in her head. Tarn wasn’t acting with anyone’s best interests in mind, including his own. She wasn’t being a true friend if she encouraged this behaviour, or just stood back and let it happen. 

But she wasn’t sure how much she could do to turn Tarn from his path if he was hell-bent on his own destruction. 

She’d saved him once, and she still had nightmares about seeing him immersed in that tank of Nuke. 

She wasn’t sure she could save him again. 

Her comm link pinged. <<You and Vos, order Helex and Tesarus to withdraw.>> 

A secret message. A message Tarn didn’t want Deathsaurus to overhear. 

A betrayal. 

Tarn was sacrificing the Warworld’s crew to Megatron. 

“Deathsaurus,” Nickel said, but Deathsaurus’s attention was elsewhere. 

# 

Deathsaurus zeroed in his long-distance vision on Megatron. He didn’t need to have bothered. He had already seen the long and deadly plume of fusion cannon fire cutting swaths through his troops. 

But the expression he saw on Megatron’s face wasn’t that of the mech who’d let Tarn beat him into near-shutdown a few hours before. 

“Tarn, he’s decimating my men. We need to rethink this. I’m ordering a retreat.” 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Tarn retorted. “We need Megatron tired out before we close in for the kill.” 

Deathsaurus thought fast. His clever mind presented one possible solution. “Send Overlord,” Deathsaurus demanded. “Let _him _play with Megatron for a while.” 

Deathsaurus didn’t wait for Tarn to answer. He was already on his comm link with Overlord. “Target sighted. You are cleared to engage.” 

Overlord merely chuckled. “Me? So soon? What about, I don’t know, the five hundred Decepticon soldiers around me?” 

Deathsaurus stared at his comm, aghast. Overlord was doing this on _purpose_. Here was Overlord’s retribution for Deathsaurus daring to stand up against him. Overlord would refuse to fight until enough of the Warworld crew were injured or dead to soothe his ego. 

“I’m _sorry_,” Overlord continued. “Did I say _five hundred_? I meant…hm…four hundred and fifty? Maybe four hundred and forty. It’s so hard to keep track…” 

Deathsaurus cut the comm before he could say something that would make the situation worse. 

Tarn glowered at Deathsaurus. “I didn’t authorize that order.” 

“It doesn’t matter. Overlord’s deliberately standing back because he wants to see my troops get killed.” 

“That’s Megatron’s doing. Megatron made Overlord what he is.” Tarn pointed at their former Emperor. “Look down there, Deathsaurus. Look at him, with that huge cannon, blasting your people. They need to fight back. You need to rally them and get all of them to concentrate their fire on Megatron.” 

“I’m not letting them fight Megatron alone.” 

“Very well. Then lead the charge if you must.” 

Deathsaurus stared at Tarn. 

“I know I’m not going to change your mind,” Tarn said. “You’re as stubborn as Overlord in your own way. I understand that you and your crew are one. So be it. Gather your troops and _attack Megatron.”_

Deathsaurus glanced at Nickel. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but the frown on her face told Deathsaurus that it was not just his animal instincts going haywire. This situation had gone from bad to worse, and Nickel could see it, just as he could. 

For a moment he thought about attacking Megatron all by himself. He discarded the idea immediately. Part of him wanted to fight Megatron—to win Tarn through bloody combat—but Deathsaurus knew the gladiator fantasy didn’t work that way in reality. Even if Deathsaurus won, Tarn’s affections were his own to give. They were not a prize that Deathsaurus could take by force. 

More likely, Deathsaurus would lose. Then what? Then Tarn would order the Warworld troops to attack Megatron, and they would get killed anyway, and Deathsaurus would not be able to protect them. 

Tarn had not listened when Deathsaurus had wanted to withdraw and analyze the Autobots’ augmented battle strength, and as a result, Deathsaurus’s people had taken losses. Now Tarn was asking—no, telling—Deathsaurus to do something else that went against Deathsaurus’s every instinct. 

Tarn’s personal feelings about Megatron weren’t worth getting any more of the Warworld crew killed. 

And neither were Deathsaurus’s personal feelings about Tarn. 

Deathsaurus folded his talons into his palms, feeling the sharp edges biting deep. Wet energon trickled from his clenched fists. His mind could not see any more ways out of the corner that Tarn had backed him into. He had only a single course of action remaining. 

“Don’t make me do this,” Deathsaurus whispered. 

Deathsaurus stared at Tarn, pleading with all four optics the best way he knew how, hoping Tarn would understand, hoping Tarn would take away the bitter choice he’d placed before Deathsaurus. 

Tarn folded his arms. Put a cutting edge into his voice. Spoke in a tone that sent ribbons of agony through Deathsaurus’s spark like the lash of a whip. “Give. The. Order.” 

Deathsaurus opened his comm link. 

Flared his wings. 

Locked optics with Tarn. 

“Warworld crew, this is Deathsaurus – Execute Contingency One-One-Three-Zulu. Full retreat.” 

# 

Tarn didn’t think he’d heard correctly. How could… _who would dare to…_but weren’t they… 

“What?” he spluttered, confounded. 

Deathsaurus shot a glance at Nickel, but he looked at Tarn before responding. “It means I’m leaving.” 

“I didn’t give you permission to…” 

“We had a _partnership_. Not a command takeover. Or so you said.” Deathsaurus gave Tarn a hard stare, as though challenging him to deny it. 

Tarn realized that he had precious little experience of interaction outside an authoritarian framework. He was the master of his team and Megatron was the master of him and this was as it should be; the structure was never questioned. Except that Deathsaurus had questioned it anyway. And now, Deathsaurus was questioning _him_. 

No, Tarn had never intended their relationship to be one of equals. He also knew he could never say so without driving Deathsaurus away. 

He didn’t want to lose his…_ally_. Was that the word he was looking for? 

Deathsaurus spoke again before Tarn could ponder the matter any further. “Two systems over there’s a Black Block Consortia run space station that’s dealing with the Marauders and who knows how many anti-mechanical governments. We talked about this,” Deathsaurus said. “You told me we’d take the base after we were done with Megatron.” His wings rustled. “We came here to kill Megatron and his Autobot associates. We got them on the ropes and you called a retreat. To torture them, you said. To _toy _ with them, I say.” He glanced sidelong at Overlord down on the battlefield, trading shots with Megatron as the Warworld forces withdrew. 

Deathsaurus continued, “We could’ve killed them and been done. Now they’ve built defenses. They should _not _be this strong. This group of Autobots…this list of names that Kaon gave me…there’s _nothing _in any of their records that suggests they should be capable of what they’re doing today, and that’s not just _odd, _it’s_dangerous. You _gave them time to build defenses, and they _did_… defenses that are hurting and killing_ my people_. All because you had to toy with Megatron. And that Black Block space station is still operating, still threatening mechanicals in four different sectors.” __

Tarn had nothing to say to that, because there was nothing to say. The implication was clear: if Tarn were serious about being the new Emperor of the Decepticons, he’d do what was best for his species, namely, taking out that base. Tarn knew the base should be his priority. He just…didn’t care. 

He struggled to understand why not. He hadn’t thought he’d need to worry about the Black Block Consortia after he was done here—as though he’d expected his presence on this world to fix not only the Megatron problem but all his other problems as well. 

_Well, what did you think would happen?_

Tarn’s mind balked at answering that question. Reluctantly, he admitted that he thought _Megatron _would take care of it. Or deem it unimportant, as he chose. 

_I expected Megatron to change his mind._

_ I thought…I thought I could convince him._

Instead, he’d found that pathetic broken shell of a Megatron, the one that deserved a mercy kill. 

But that broken Megatron wasn’t on the battlefield right now. Megatron’s fusion cannon thundered across the killing fields, and Tarn saw the Megatron he used to know, with one crucial difference: it was his DJD in Megatron’s sights. 

This wasn’t an execution any more, nor was it euthanasia. The DJD were about to fight for their very lives. 

Tarn couldn’t do that alone. 

“I forbid you to leave,” Tarn growled. 

“I don’t recognize your authority,” Deathsaurus countered. 

Tarn decided to try some reverse psychology. Play on their relationship—that had worked before, hadn’t it? 

_ You said you wouldn’t do that again. That you’d be a better person now. _

But Tarn didn’t have time to be the better person. 

“Very well,” Tarn sneered. “Walk away. You’re _so very good _at that, aren’t you, Deathsaurus? Every time someone challenges you, that’s what you do. You turn your back and you leave.” 

Deathsaurus looked back over his shoulder. “It’s an acceptable strategy when there’s no benefit to be gained by staying.” 

Tarn twisted the knife. “I thought we were _partners_. I thought you _cared _about me. And you’re abandoning me _now_?” 

“I told you I wouldn’t choose between you and my people. My troops are in danger _now_. They’re dying _now_. I owe it to them to value their lives.” Deathsaurus stepped closer. “I don’t want you to stay either. I don’t want you to risk _your _life over someone who’s done nothing but hurt you. I don’t want you to let him hurt you _more_. But that’s not my choice to make. It’s yours.” He held out his hand. “Tarn. _Come with me_.” 

Tarn flinched away. He dug deep in himself for all the anger and fury he could muster, in the hopes of burning away the part of him that wanted nothing more than to take Deathsaurus’s hand. There was a new life on offer, right in front of him—a partnership with Deathsaurus, a future as Lords of the Galactic Rim, a new Decepticon Empire. He wanted it so much that it terrified him. 

He belonged with Megatron. 

And now, he needed Deathsaurus if he was ever going to see his fatal tango with his former Lord through to its conclusion. 

Tarn had maybe pushed his ally a little too far. A certain degree of conciliation might be in order. “Deathsaurus, be reasonable. That space station isn’t going anywhere. Take some time to consider before you burn your bridges.” 

“It’s not my bridge that’s burning, Tarn. It’s _yours_. If I were you, I’d decide which end to run to. Quickly, because it’s already on fire.” Deathsaurus’s optics, all four, fixated on Tarn like glowing embers. “So make your choice. Leave with me or go to him.” He threw out an arm, pointing towards Megatron. 

“Deathsaurus, I…” 

“Though I suppose there’s a third option.” Deathsaurus gestured downslope at Overlord. “You could stay right where you are until both ends collapse and you fall in.” 

Tarn, too, looked at Overlord. That _was _a possibility. If Deathsaurus was walking out and Megatron refused to wise up, then maybe…maybe Tarn and Overlord together could take out the Autobots and their ex-Decepticon captain. 

Maybe. But Tarn felt sick at the idea of…of letting Overlord kill Megatron. Or of Megatron dying. He wasn’t sure which. Perhaps it was simply the lack of closure that had him so distressed. 

If Tarn’s life were a symphony, well, no great composer would _ever _have ended it like this, fading away in a cacophony of discordant notes instead of concluding with the rousing finale he deserved. Victory or tragedy, Tarn didn’t care, but the lack of artistry—the _wrongness_—made him ill. 

He felt just as sick at the idea of losing Deathsaurus. There was a song there, too, a duet they’d sung together. It, too, was going to end badly: cut short in the middle long before the final movement. Tarn was even more bewildered by this resolution, but he knew he didn’t want to lose the melody before he could even guess where it might take him. 

There had to be a solution. He just needed time to _think _of it. It was dangerous to admit any weakness in front of Overlord, and _shameful _to do so in front of _Megatron_, but Tarn had to buy himself some time. “Deathsaurus!” he called. “Don’t be _hasty_, now. I’m sure we can…” 

Deathsaurus shook his head. “I’m going after the Black Block’s outpost.” 

“Deathsaurus!” Tarn raged, but Deathsaurus was already walking away. He neither slowed his step, nor looked back. 

The wind brought Tarn a few snatches of conversation: Deathsaurus talking on his comm link to some member of his crew. Yes, they were leaving. Tarn stood helpless, unable to _force _Deathsaurus to stop without losing his focus on Megatron. 

Another sound caught Tarn’s attention. It sounded like chuckling. 

Overlord landed next to Tarn, giggling to himself while down below, Helex and Tesarus tried desperately to dodge Megatron’s cannon fire. 

Tarn glared. Overlord just laughed harder, clutching his midsection. “Oh, this is _too good_.” 

Tarn said scathingly, “Can you focus on the task at hand?” The irony, of course, was that he meant the question for himself. His treacherous spark was already missing Deathsaurus. 

Overlord wiped at his optics. “You really must make this into an opera, Tarn. The tragic hero, caught between the discovery that his idol has feet of rust, and his torrid affair with…with a beast with delusions of grandeur.” 

The other mech intended to be insulting, Tarn had no doubt, but perhaps the God that Tarn had long ago quit believing in did exist after all—and possessed a sense of humour. For there was something about hearing Overlord sum up his situation so succinctly that made Tarn’s choice crystal clear. 


	10. Resignation

__

Chapter Ten: Resignation 

__

__

Nickel held her breath. Tarn’s frame radiated with tension, and his optics burned far too brightly, casting a red glow all around the openings of his mask. She was afraid he would raise his fusion cannons and shoot Deathsaurus in the back. 

Deathsaurus walked away, slowly, deliberately, his gaze straight ahead, his wings folded behind him. He presented a perfect target. 

Nickel was almost grateful for Overlord’s arrival. At least his taunting helped to distract Tarn while Deathsaurus put distance between them. 

Nickel was tempted to go after him. To leave with Deathsaurus. But she didn’t want to shock Tarn into an impulsive action. And she didn’t feel right about abandoning… 

Vos tugged on her shoulder, gesturing down at Tesarus and Helex. They were running. Megatron was stalking after them. 

Nickel rolled forward and pulled on Tarn’s hand. “Tarn. Helex and Tesarus need help.” 

“You must have gone too soft on Megatron,” Overlord said. “How did that old song put it? _What is compassion but an excuse to act selfishly_?” 

Tarn said nothing. 

“_Tarn_,” Nickel pleaded. “What’s the good of _victory _if it costs everything—everyone—that matters?” 

Then she let go of his hand. 

And rolled after Deathsaurus. 

She closed her optics, wincing, anticipating a burst of fusion fire that never came. 

# 

Tarn stood perfectly still, like a stupid statue, while the best thing in his life walked out on him. 

Tarn’s spark clenched. His own pain didn’t matter. 

Only the Cause mattered. 

And what the Cause needed was an absolute condemnation of its founder’s betrayal. 

But Nickel had tugged at his hand, begging him to think of Tesarus and Helex. Tarn’s crew. Tarn’s family.   
Maybe what the Cause needed was to look out for its own. 

Tarn knew he could never explain that to Overlord, who had never had the capacity to care about anyone but himself. 

Still, Overlord’s words lashed Tarn’s spark like a whip. Overlord was insinuating that Tarn had spared Megatron to spare _himself _the pain of destroying his lifelong hero. Was Overlord right? Was Tarn a coward, in the end? A failure? A fool? 

What Tarn _wanted _was to stay here and let his song with Megatron play out to its conclusion, whatever that might be. But what the Decepticons _needed _was something very different. They needed a leader who would take care of them, who would give them the future that Megatron had promised them, who would put the needs of the Empire before his own fickle and foolish heart. Tarn suspected he could never be that leader. 

That leader was already on his way to carry out that necessary mission. 

_Deathsaurus is right._

_ And I made him go alone, so that I could continue in my folly here. No matter who else paid the price for my obsessions. _

Tarn’s gaze slid towards Overlord. There was an elegant solution here, if he had the nerve to take it. 

Tarn spoke to Vos. “Tell Helex and Tesarus to withdraw and return to the _Peaceful Tyranny_. Then cover their retreat.” 

As Vos hastened to obey, in halting Neocybex, Tarn turned his attention to Overlord. “Do you _really _think you can kill Megatron?” Tarn inquired. 

Overlord huffed. “You doubt me?” 

“Well, it seems to me that your game, for a very long time, has been to try to get Megatron to chase you…and also to sulk when he doesn’t want to play. I want to know if you have what it takes to actually hunt him down and finish the job.” 

“That’s a fine question coming from you,” Overlord scoffed, looking Tarn up and down. “What? You want me to kill Megatron because you can’t bring yourself to pull the trigger on your hero?” 

Tarn felt fury boiling up inside his spark. How _dare _Overlord question him? 

The fact that Tarn had recently been asking _himself _that same question just made the situation worse. 

Oh, how Tarn wanted to open his mouth and whisper bloody daggers into Overlord’s spark…but he was the _Emperor _and he did not have the luxury of playing games when the Decepticon Cause was counting on him. Yes, that was the _correct _reason for holding back. Such a decision could _not _be influenced by sentimentality for a certain outlaw commander. 

“There’s a Black Block Consortia space station two systems away,” Tarn said quietly. He watched the puzzlement grow in Overlord’s optics. “I’d _hoped _to do away with Megatron quickly and get on with the next order of business, namely removing that station’s pernicious influence on Cybertronian trade, but _someone _had to come along and distract me.” He glared at Overlord, leaving no question as to which _someone _he meant. “Giving Megatron a chance to get away.” 

Overlord smirked. “So, I’d pegged you for an animal lover, but I suppose I was wrong. It’s clearly not Deathsaurus who’s the pet here.” 

Tarn felt his mouth drop open in dismay—it was as if Overlord had invaded his mind and read his most private fantasies—but he rallied quickly, knowing Overlord was just throwing insults to see which ones would stick, and knowing his mask had hidden his expression. “Overlord, if you’d ever managed to cooperate with someone else even once in your atrocity of a life, you might understand how a _partnership _works. Sadly, that charming personality of yours is going to prevent you from ever finding out.” 

Overlord curled his generous upper lip and snarled. 

Tarn just kept talking. “Why don’t you practice by keeping quiet while I ask you a question? I’m prepared to offer you a _deal_, Overlord. You say you’re here to kill Megatron. That it’s important both to you and to whoever repaired you that you do so. I’m here to make sure Megatron dies. You’ll notice those are different things. If you can handle Megatron for me, then I can turn my attention to _other _matters. In exchange, I’m willing to take your name off the List.” 

Yes. That would do nicely. Let Overlord think there was some reward for compliance. Overlord didn’t need to know that the List, as of right now, consisted solely of Megatron. 

“You’re still keeping that List.” 

Tarn raised his head. “My _Justice Division _is curating the List.” 

It was odd referring to the DJD as though he were no longer part of it. But if he really was serious about this whole Emperor business, then…well, then, he really _ought _to appoint a new head of the Justice Division. A new “Tarn.” He would think about this later, when he had time to consider what name he _himself _would go by. 

Or perhaps he belonged where he had always been, tending to the Empire’s internal administration, keeping order in the ranks so the leaders could lead and the rulers could rule. Doing his job for an Emperor worthy of the name. 

He would _definitely _need to think about this later. 

Overlord stroked his chin, contemplating. Moments stretched into minutes—precious minutes that took Deathsaurus further and further away from him. 

“Don’t be a fool,” Tarn snapped. “Agree, and we both get what we want._Disagree_, and I have to hunt Megatron down later, and after _that_, I send my Justice Division for _you_.” 

Overlord laughed. “All right, all right.” He gave Tarn a simpering smile. “Would you like me to take some pictures for you? _Before and after_ , perhaps?” 

“Put them up on The Big Conversation. Let _everyone _witness Megatron’s fate.” 

Tarn allowed himself a moment of satisfaction when he saw surprise flicker in Overlord’s optics just before a big grin spread across his lips. Yes, putting the images on the Decepticon social networking site would appeal nicely to Overlord’s love of exhibitionism. It would also suit the DJD’s purposes by serving as a reminder that the war might be over, but the Cause most assuredly was not. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Tarn said, and turned to leave. 

“Wait.” Overlord seemed off-balance, as though he hadn’t expected Tarn to be serious. “That’s really _it_? You’re really _leaving_?” 

“Do I have to stay and supervise you? You’ve proven yourself fully capable of the requisite level of carnage.” Tarn changed shape, as though he were unconcerned of Overlord’s willingness to fulfill his task. “I have faith that you can make Megatron’s death sufficiently, how shall we say, inspirational?” 

“And you…you _trust _me?” 

“I trust you to be what you are, Overlord: a bloody minded killer who needs to show his creator the full extent of his abilities. If my trust is _misplaced_, I can always hunt you down _later. _For now, duty calls. The work of an Emperor is neverending.” 

Overlord put his hands on his hips. “Then give me the mask.” 

Tarn felt his fuel tank turn to ice. “What?” he whispered. 

“If I’m doing your old job…” Overlord leered, holding out his hand. “Then I want your mask.” 

Tarn reached up, hooking trembling fingers into the mouth-slit of his mask. 

There was no use in telling Overlord that Megatron of all people wouldn’t be scared by the mask. Overlord wasn’t doing this for Megatron. He was doing this to get one more dig in at Tarn. 

Unless… 

Was it possible that Overlord wanted the mask for the same reason Tarn wore it? 

Could it be that Overlord didn’t want Megatron to see him close his optics? 

Tarn took a firm grip on the mask. 

It wasn’t this mask in particular that was significant. Tarn had close to a hundred old masks in his office. He retired them when they got too worn, too battle-damaged, too scarred from his instinctive urges to claw at the raw wound on his face. 

_If you take it off, Overlord will see your scar._

_ If you take it off, Overlord will see your expression._

_ If you take it off, you won’t be able to hide from anyone ever again. Everyone you meet will see you for exactly what you are…Damus of Tarn. _

Pulling the mask away from his face was simply an impossibility. The weight of the mask was far, far more than little Damus could ever lift. 

_ You’re trapped. Prisoner of the role that Megatron created for you to play. _

Except that…he wasn’t trapped at all. He’d just delegated that role to Overlord. 

Let Overlord punish Megatron. Let Overlord give Megatron the consequences he deserved. Let Overlord play Decepticon Justice Division. Overlord could be “Tarn” now. 

Damus of Tarn had better things to do. 

Like stop the best thing in his life from slipping through his fingers. 

Tarn took a deep breath, pulled the mask away from his face, and pressed it into Overlord’s hands. 

_What would Deathsaurus do?_

Damus looked Overlord straight in the optics. _Let _Overlord see his face. _Let _Overlord see his scar. What was the worst that Overlord could do? His opinion meant nothing to Tarn, nothing at all. 

Overlord took the mask, but he didn’t say anything. He stared at Tarn’s face, then at the mask, then back at Tarn’s face, and his lips moved, but no sound came out. 

Damus didn’t have time to wait for Overlord to think of some meaningless commentary. He turned around, changed shape, and headed back to the _Peaceful Tyranny_. 

In the end, Overlord never thought of a snarky remark to make about Damus’s face. Instead, he called out, “Hey! Post up on The Big Conversation what you do to Deathsaurus for talking to you like that!” 

_Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you_ , Tarn thought, but Overlord was going to have to use his imagination. 

What Tarn wanted to do with Deathsaurus would be _strictly private _ and not for public viewing. 

That is, assuming Deathsaurus wanted anything to do with him. Assuming that he hadn’t squandered his last chance when he’d refused to take Deathsaurus’s hand. 

Assuming he hadn’t made his decision too late to get Deathsaurus back. 

# 

Planet Khepera 

Black Block Consortia Outpost #895 

Deathsaurus chopped the right arm off his adversary. Not that it did a lot of good. The mechanism simply extended a blade out of its left palm and resumed its attempts to hack Deathsaurus’s head off. 

Deathsaurus parried, blocking the attack. His adversary was even bigger than he was, but it was also clumsy and slow. It fought like a novice, and it didn’t seem all that bright. 

But Deathsaurus didn’t like the speed at which its right arm regenerated. He swore he could smell hot sentio metallico as a new arm formed from the stump of the old. 

What in the Pit were these things? 

Deathsaurus had fought the Black Block Consortia many times in the last five hundred years, but they’d never had troops like these before. These things looked almost Cybertronian, but they acted like drones. As though they’d been lobotomized. Or domesticated. 

Deathsaurus shivered. 

He felt badly for them, if that were the case, but not badly enough to pull his punches. They were attacking his crew. He had his people to defend. 

Deathsaurus changed shape, whipping his tail like a scythe, clipping his adversary at the knees. His enemy staggered. Deathsaurus pounced, changing back in mid-air, driving his blade into the thing’s throat. He landed with both feet on its chest. 

The enemy thrashed, but Deathsaurus used the full force of his weight to keep it pinned. Deathsaurus dragged his sword free and raised the weapon high. His next swing took the enemy’s head clean off. 

These machines were enough like Cybertronians that a decapitation was, if not fatal, at least incapacitating. Without direct signals from the brain to the body, the body under Deathsaurus’s feet stopped writhing and lay still. 

Immediate foe dispatched, Deathsaurus surveyed the battlefield and didn’t like what he saw. 

His troops had battled their way through the first wave of these strange new adversaries, and were in the process of eliminating the second. At the base of the outpost, a third wave was assembling for attack. Deathsaurus could also see the usual Black Block soldiers in among the new drones. More Black Block troops manned artillery along the walls of the outpost. Deathsaurus’s troops weren’t in range of those guns yet, but they would be soon. 

Deathsaurus’s sharp optics caught a hint of movement. The smell of hot sentio metallico grew stronger. 

The first wave wasn’t finished yet. Deathsaurus saw them rising to their feet as their bodies regenerated. The Warworld troops didn’t seem to notice. Their attention was on the enemies in front of them. 

Insight cut Deathsaurus’s spark, hot and sharp. 

In a few moments his troops would be caught between the third wave ahead, and the regenerated first wave behind them. They wouldn’t even be able to retreat. The first wave would block their withdrawal. Then the third wave would catch up to them and wipe them out. 

The Black Block Consortia was waiting for them to advance just far enough to get into range of the artillery. Then they’d spring the trap. 

The scent of hot sentio metallico filled Deathsaurus’s nostrils. The body under Deathsaurus’s feet twitched. 

Deathsaurus stared. This thing…it was regrowing its _head_. 

These enemies healed faster than he did, and that was saying something. Deathsaurus was well aware of the benefits of being able to charge into battle and trust that you could recover from most of the damage your enemies could inflict on you before you took them down. He’d never fought a foe that could beat him at his own game. 

Part of the art of being a commander was knowing how to pick one’s battles. Some battles weren’t worth the cost of the fight. Megatron had been one of them: why risk his crew’s lives to deliver a ritual punishment for a former leader he’d left behind a million years ago? 

This was rapidly becoming another such battle. 

There were easier ways to resupply the Warworld. They had two weeks’ worth of supplies—four if they rationed tightly. They could find a more vulnerable target to hit. They’d come back here only after they had a chance to analyze these new enemies and figure out the best way to defeat them. 

Hells. Maybe they’d just steal a very large bomb and flatten this outpost from orbit. 

Deathsaurus opened his comm link. “Esmeral, Leozack, Blue Bacchus, this is Deathsaurus ordering a retreat. I say again, retreat. Acknowledge.” 

“Acknowledged.” That was Esmeral. 

“Wilco.” Bacchus. 

“Roger that.” Leozack wasn’t even bothering to argue. Clearly he agreed with Deathsaurus’s choice. 

The orders went out across the line. Deathsaurus saw his troops begin to back away from the fortress. 

Towards the waiting first wave. 

Deathsaurus set his comm to full broadcast. “All units, watch your six!” 

Not far away, Killbison tore his current adversary’s head from its shoulders, unaware of one of the first wave troops coming up behind him, blade drawn. 

Deathsaurus leapt into action, flaring his wings, changing shape and raining down dragonfire on the enemy. 

Killbison jumped, and looked up, aggrieved…until he saw Deathsaurus’s target. He waved gratefully. 

Deathsaurus flapped his wings, hovering while he calculated the best way to strafe the enemy line without striking his own people. The best thing he could do right now was support his troops’ withdrawal by keeping the first wave distracted and off balance. 

He’d been so hesitant when he’d first developed the fire breath. But it had come in handy so many times. 

Down below, the Black Block Consortia troops in the courtyard of the fortress were readying anti-air artillery. Anti-air shells were notoriously inaccurate, and most Cybertronians could shrug off a little shrapnel. Occasionally the alien defenders got lucky and the shrapnel hit something critical, like a fuel line or an optic sensor, but these injuries were more annoying than dangerous. 

Deathsaurus did not see what the Consortia troops were preparing directly below him. 

Not until the point of a diamond-tipped missile spear tore its way out of his back, leaving the shaft of the weapon dangling down from his chest in the vicinity of his spark. A second later, an agony like he’d never imagined tore through his systems, and before he could think of how to land safely, his consciousness blinked out. 


	11. Towards Peace

Chapter Eleven: Towards Peace 

The _Peaceful Tyranny_

In orbit above Khepera 

The _Peaceful Tyranny_ jumped into the system and settled into a slow orbit of the planet Khepera. From this height, Tarn couldn’t see the battle, though he did see the Warworld in orbit, a little closer to the planet. 

Tarn bit his lip. He ought to tell Warworld air traffic control that the _Peaceful Tyranny_ was here. He didn’t want his ship to be mistaken for an enemy. 

Yet Tarn couldn’t think of what to say. 

Instead, he activated his comm link and buzzed Nickel. 

“Hello?” the medic said suspiciously. 

“Hello,” Tarn replied quietly. 

“So that new ship is you, then,” she said, suggesting she was somewhere in the Warworld with a view of surrounding space. The bridge, probably. “Deathsaurus isn’t here, and if you want to start trouble, I’d thank you kindly to wait until I’m done my repairs from the _current _battle. Maybe come back in a few days.” 

Tarn began to protest that he was not, in fact, here to start trouble, when the full impact of her words sank in. “A few _days_.” 

“It’s bad down there.” Nickel could not keep the worry out of her voice, despite her tough façade. “As if I didn’t have enough repairs from the Necroworld debacle. Med bay is anticipating heavy casualties and right now all we can do is _wait_.” 

“Do they need help?” Tarn asked. He leaned forward over the pilot’s seat, where Vos was guiding the ship. He could see the explosions of heavy shells from up here in orbit. 

Tesarus gawked at him from the copilot’s seat. “Are you serious?” 

For an instant, Tarn wondered if Overlord was right. If he was getting soft. A month ago, Tesarus would never have dared to question him like that. 

A month ago, he would have thought nothing of thrashing Tesarus’s spark with his Voice. 

But things had to be different now. _He _was different now. There would be no more scaring and hurting his subordinates, the way Megatron had done to him when he did wrong. He had to be…_wanted _to be…more like Deathsaurus. What would Deathsaurus do? 

_He’d think his way out._

“Tesarus, I am certain that you, like me, have Nuke raging through your systems right now and you’d like nothing more than to go kill something. Am I right?” 

“Well, _yeah_, but….” 

“Since when have you become so picky about what you get to kill?” 

“Yeah, fine,” Tesarus muttered. 

Nickel was a long time in replying. “Are you…” Her voice broke off. “Really?” 

Tarn felt hurt that she’d doubted him. That she’d thought he’d come here to punish Deathsaurus for his desertion. 

It was, of course, his own fault. He’d cultivated a reputation as a figure of vengeance, brooking no argument, offering no mercy. He shouldn’t be surprised that even his own friends thought the worst of him. 

“Deathsaurus was right,” Tarn said quietly. “I just hope I figured it out in time.” 

“Hold on, I have another call coming through.” The line crackled. Tarn used the time to order Vos to take the _Peaceful Tyranny _down towards the site of the fighting. A few moments later, Nickel said, “I’m going to patch you through to the command link with Leozack.” 

Nickel did it before Tarn could protest that he didn’t want to talk to Leozack of all people. 

“…need the field medic team down here pronto!” 

“Roger.” Nickel’s voice was calm, but Tarn could hear the strain in it. “On our way.” 

“Leozack.” This voice was firm, authoritative, but it wasn’t Deathsaurus’s. “Deathsaurus ordered a retreat. We should obey his final command.” 

“We’re not leaving him, Esmeral. I don’t care what you say.” Leozack sounded emotional, and Tarn frowned. Mechanisms got like that when they let their feelings overcome their thinking, and then they did impulsive and stupid things. Primus knew he’d done it often enough. That he saw this flaw in himself didn’t make it any less disgusting to his sensibilities. An overly emotional leader was a pathetic thing. 

Or was that something else he’d adopted from Megatron without question? 

“This isn’t what he wanted,” Esmeral persisted. 

Leozack lost control then, screaming into the comm link. “I’m not leaving him! We’re not leaving him! He…he never left us!” 

Tarn suddenly felt his spark turn to ice. 

_Deathsaurus._

It was inconceivable that something could…could _happen _to Deathsaurus. Deathsaurus was a force of nature, an unconquerable will. After laughing off not only the Great War but also the hostile environment of the Galactic Rim, not to mention the Decepticon Justice Division, it made no sense at all that Deathsaurus could be seriously threatened by anything the Black Block Consortia could throw at him. 

And yet. 

“Medic team inbound.” That was Nickel’s voice. “Estimated time of arrival five minutes.” 

“That’s too…” An explosion cut off Leozack’s next words. 

“Leozack, this is Drillhorn. We can’t hold them off much longer. Please advise.” 

“Drillhorn, hold the line, you’ve got to hold…hold the line…” 

Despite the fear in his heart, Tarn’s thoughts fell into crystal clarity. For the first time since he’d realized that Megatron had turned his back on the Decepticons, Tarn knew precisely what to do. For the first time, he had no doubts whatsoever that he was doing the right thing. 

Tarn activated his comm link. “Leozack, this is Tarn and we are your backup.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Drillhorn, where do you want the DJD?” 

“Front and center! We are being overrun by mechanicals with rapid self-repair abilities. Look for my orange flare.” 

“Affirmative.” Tarn raised his head. “Tesarus. Helex. Kaon. Vos will drop you in front of Drillhorn’s unit where you will _do damage _to anything threatening the Warworld crew.” 

Three heads nodded in unison. 

“Vos, I want you to circle the battlefield in the _Peaceful Tyranny _and be prepared to make a quick extraction.” 

Vos nodded, sharply. Tarn sensed that Vos was itching to kill, just as they all were, but he’d follow the order. 

“Our priority is to retrieve my field marshal and his crew. _Alive_, if you please. Damage to the enemy is desirable but _not _the main goal. Are we clear?” 

The DJD all nodded. Tarn hoped he could trust them. He hoped he could trust himself. He could feel the Nuke crawling under his plating. In the heat of bloodshed it was easy to forget. 

But he could do nothing but his best, and pray that for once he might be good enough. 

“Prepare to drop.” 

# 

Planet Khepera 

Black Block Consortia Outpost #895 

Leozack never thought he’d be happy to see the unexpected arrival of the Decepticon Justice Division. 

Truth be told, he still wasn’t sure he ought to be glad to see Helex and Tesarus dropping onto the battlefield, their huge fists pounding two of the strange enemy robots into submission before their smaller arms shoved their foes headfirst into a smelter and a grinder respectively. Yet he was definitely relieved. His missiles hadn’t been enough to keep the enemies back. 

Still, Leozack wasn’t convinced that the DJD wouldn’t just kill everything in sight. Or that Tarn wasn’t here to punish the Warworld crew for leaving him. The thought should scare him more than it did. 

Leozack was already as frightened as he could get. He knelt down and rested his hand on the shoulder of the figure that lay sprawled on the ground at his feet. Deathsaurus might be beyond punishment. 

_ Keep it together. You have a crew to lead. You have to take care of them, like Des did. _

They were taking damage just staying here on the battlefield. Leozack didn’t know what to do. He knew it wasn’t right to ask his fellow warriors to die in a vain attempt to save someone who was beyond help. But the order to retreat kept sticking in his throat. Abandoning Deathsaurus was beyond all comprehension. 

The DJD had taken that terrible choice away from him, for a while, at least. If the DJD could help them hold the line, Leozack wouldn’t have to think about leaving Deathsaurus. 

_Where in the Pit are the medics?_

Three enemies charged at Leozack. Leozack jumped over Deathsaurus’s prostrate form and opened fire on the trio. Two of them closed in on him while the third kept advancing towards Deathsaurus. 

Des couldn’t fight back. 

Leozack broke away from the other two. They didn’t want to let him go. They grabbed at his wings, heedless of his lasers. He had to tackle the third one from behind to make it face him. 

His crewmates couldn’t help. Guyhawk on his left, and Deathcobra on his right, were both fighting desperately with enemies of their own. 

Primus, he couldn’t do this. The position was not defendable. The medics couldn’t treat Deathsaurus if Leozack couldn’t even keep the enemy at bay. 

He was failing. He was failing Deathsaurus. 

He’d been Warworld commander for all of five minutes and he was failing. 

Then two blasts of fusion cannon fire tore through the other two enemies’ chests, and Leozack’s lasers finally started shooting bits off the third one faster than it could regenerate. Leozack dared look up and felt a sudden surge of relief. There was Tarn, standing over Deathsaurus, his fusion cannons blowing away any adversary that dared come near. And there was Requiem, the Warworld’s CMO, driving over the battlefield in hover-hearse mode, with Nickel and Glit riding on his hood, their medical kits in hand. 

Leozack still wasn’t sure he liked Tarn on a personal level, but right now, he’d sell his spark to Unicron himself if it would bring Deathsaurus back. 

# 

Tarn tried very hard not to stare at the figure on the ground at his feet. 

He didn’t want to see Deathsaurus’s beak gaping in agony. He didn’t want to hear that voice in his head whispering _everything you did was for nothing_. He didn’t want to feel the breeze from Deathsaurus’s wings as they thrashed against the ground. He especially didn’t want his gaze to linger on the gash in Deathsaurus’s upper chest, and by _gash_, he meant _rent asunder_. 

Tarn would have been furious if any of his DJD had inflicted such a wound on a target. Such an act would be entirely too merciful. This kind of injury made mechs die much too quickly for the DJD’s operational parameters. 

Tarn unloaded his fusion cannons into the enemy instead. It felt good to release some of the rage and hate and hurt he felt inside. The Nuke sang in his systems, thrilling him with the ecstasy of release. Yet the usual high was numbed by his concern for Deathsaurus. 

The enemy healed quickly, yes, but there was no healing from being torn into pieces by fusion blasts. Tarn made short work of his two opponents and Leozack’s adversary as well. Without any foes to keep his attention, Tarn’s optics strayed down to Deathsaurus again. 

Deathsaurus’s spark chamber had been torn open. Pink energon soaked the ground. Sparks fizzled from damaged wiring. Tarn could see Deathsaurus’s spinal strut. 

He could also see something else. 

Primus, he could _smell _it. 

There was nothing quite like the scent of hot sentio metallico. After Grindcore, Tarn would never forget what it smelled like. Here, on this battlefield, Tarn could smell the precious substance that shaped all Forged cybertronians. 

And the Super MTOs as well. 

_Prototype._

Liquid metal pooled in the depths of Deathsaurus’s wound, forming new structures before Tarn’s optics, knitting together on its own while Deathsaurus’s spark blazed like a defiant eye, glaring its challenge into the dark. 

But as Tarn watched, he noticed the sentio metallico slowing down. Even as Tarn watched, the new growth became sluggish, and then stopped entirely. 

Where in the Pit were the medics?! 

Deathsaurus’s spark flickered. 

There had to be some way to give the sentio metallico a power boost. Tarn felt frantic. What was the use of knowing a thousand ways to murder someone? It did him no good now. All his career in the DJD had done was provide him with a coroner’s knowledge of death and dying. He’d seen enough to know that Deathsaurus was dying right now. 

Nuke crawled in his system. His fuel pump pounded. His cannons pulsed with energy. All of it was futile. _He_ didn’t need raw power. Deathsaurus did… 

Tarn reached into his subspace pocket and withdrew a loaded syringe. 

It was his last instant dose of Nuke. Once this was gone, there would be no more, not until the DJD returned to Messatine, mined the vein, processed the ore, and stabilized it into this form. 

_Perhaps not even then._

Because the vein was running dry, and there was no guarantee they’d find another. What was Tarn supposed to do when the Nuke ran out? 

Another urge rose up inside Tarn’s spark—one that he hated himself for. It was a sudden compulsion to open his medical access port and jab the syringe into his own arm. 

Disgusted, Tarn fought it down. He dropped to his knees and fumbled at Deathsaurus’s medical access port. 

Deathsaurus’s spark flickered again, and Tarn’s passing urge was forgotten. 

Hands shaking, Tarn pulled the cap off the tube, inserted the tip into Deathsaurus’s fuel bypass, and slammed the plunger home. 

_ You didn’t read his file. You don’t know what the Nuke will do to the systems of an experimental prototype. _

_What if you just killed him? _

It was possible that Deathsaurus’s frame wouldn’t be able to handle the sudden influx of a foreign substance. Tarn couldn’t bear to think about that. He had to remind himself that Deathsaurus was dying anyway. Better to take a chance to save him than to stand here doing nothing and watch his partner’s life ebb away. 

Deathsaurus’s frame… 

_Seethed _ was the only word Tarn could think of. A ripple passed over Deathsaurus’s body, as though the layer of metal underneath his armour were melting and reshaping itself. The scent of hot sentio metallico grew overpowering. 

Deathsaurus’s wound resumed knitting, faster than ever, as the Nuke boosted his systems. Tarn watched in wonder, holding his breath. 

A missile streaked past overhead. 

Tarn had to remind himself that he was on a battlefield. Hyperfixation in combat situations was dangerous. It was how he’d gotten the scar on his face. He’d neglected to give Grimlock the consideration his adversary deserved because he’d been entirely absorbed in harnessing his vocal powers. He’d kept the scar as a reminder not to fail that way again. 

Tarn lifted his head and scanned the surrounding area. In front of him, Leozack and a number of his comrades were managing—barely—to keep the foe at bay. Tarn fired off a few shots to assist them. 

Behind him, he saw a vehicle approaching with two small figures clinging to its hood. One was humanoid. Nickel. The other, feline. Glit. 

But Tarn frowned at the sight of the mech carrying them. 

He reminded himself that Requiem was Deathsaurus’s Chief Medical Officer and a consummate professional. It wasn’t his fault that his alt mode was a hover-hearse, shiny black with delicate silver filigree. It was Tarn’s poetic mind that looked at Requiem and saw Death itself coming for Deathsaurus. 

He was being silly. He glanced down at Deathsaurus to remind himself how silly he was being. 

His fuel pump stopped with a lurch. 

Yes, the sentio metallico was still knitting together, but Deathsaurus’s spark was flickering faster now, guttering like a candle in a storm wind. 

Requiem braked next to Tarn. Nickel and Glit hopped off his hood, tending to Deathsaurus while Requiem changed shape. 

“Nickel,” Tarn said. His voxcoder sounded tinny, devoid of its usual smoothness. “I gave him a shot of Nuke.” 

“I don’t understand,” Glit muttered. “He shouldn’t be mending this quickly when his spark is so faint.” 

“He’s had a systems booster,” Nickel said. 

Tarn realized he wanted Nickel to tell him that Deathsaurus would be all right. That he hadn’t done something wrong by administering the Nuke. But she offered no such comfort. She was fixated on her patient. 

“Which drug?” Requiem asked. 

“It’s classified,” Nickel said. “You haven’t heard of it. Think nucleon, augmented exponentially.” 

Tarn ought to be angry about Nickel’s blatant defiance of regulation. Nuke was top secret, and neither Requiem nor Glit had proper clearance. Yet for all the value Tarn placed on proper administration, right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d swap out his mask for an Autobot badge if it would bring Deathsaurus back. 

_ If you’d been here from the beginning of the fight, this wouldn’t have happened. The Black Block Consortia could never have stood against the Warworld and the DJD united. _

_ But no, you had to go chasing after Megatron, who never really cared about you, while the leader who _ does _went off to his doom._

_ This is all your fault, Damus of Tarn._

No amount of logic—not even repeating the fact that Deathsaurus chose to attack this outpost on his own—would shake the feeling. 

If Deathsaurus died here, and Overlord killed Megatron, what would Damus of Tarn have left? 

_ The Decepticon Empire will collapse, and everything you’ve ever done will have been for nothing. _

“It’s putting too much stress on his spark,” Glit said. “We have to slow down the effect.” 

“Counterargument,” Requiem replied in his sepulchral voice. “If we slow down the effect, he’ll leak to death.” 

“We have to jumpstart his spark,” Nickel pronounced. 

Glit stared at her, his jaw hanging open. Requiem raised an optic ridge, which was probably a sign of absolute shock from a mechanism as reserved as he. “A Prion technique?” he inquired. 

“You people don’t...?” Nickel, already drawing out a cable, seemed just as taken aback that this treatment wasn’t common knowledge to her Warworld colleagues. “We need a donor with a high yield spark to give Deathsaurus’s spark a boost. It’s the most logical treatment given that Requiem is right, he’ll leak to death if he doesn’t heal up and also, I haven’t the slightest idea how to slow down the effects of the Nuke.” 

“Agreed. Direct us,” Requiem said, and Tarn couldn’t help but be impressed. The CMO’s ego didn’t play into his decision at all. Nickel had knowledge he didn’t, and so he trusted her to direct the team. 

“Glit, I want you to monitor Deathsaurus while I hook up the cable. Requiem, get me a donor with a high yield spark.” 

Requiem spoke into his communicator. “Drillhorn, this is Requiem. Report to my signal immediately.” 

“Negative, Requiem.” Tarn could barely hear Drillhorn over the gunfire. “My squad is surrounded.” 

“Leozack. Is there anyone else Forged on this battlefield?” 

Leozack screamed overhead in jet mode and transformed, answering on his way to the ground. “No. Do you want me to clear a path for Drillhorn?” 

“We don’t have time for that,” Glit interjected. 

_Hold on, Deathsaurus_ , Tarn thought, praying to a god he didn’t believe in. Megatron would be disgusted by his weakness. Tarn didn’t care. 

“Take me,” Leozack blurted, opening his spark panel. 

“No.” Requiem was firm. “You are a split spark. You cannot choose to risk your sister’s life as well as your own.” 

“She’d agree,” Leozack said frantically. 

Tarn shoved Leozack aside. “No. We’re using _mine_.” 

Tarn opened his chest panel, turning his head to Requiem. “I’m a Point One Percenter. An Outlier. Forged.” 

“You’re also boosting on Nuke,” Nickel said, “and let’s be honest, your health is not the best.” 

Tarn felt a flash of rage. He wanted to shove his cannons into Nickel’s face and order her to obey his will. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. 

Instead, he begged. 

“Please. I’m the only Forged mech here, other than you, and you’re the only medic who knows this technique. We don’t have time to wait for Drillhorn or anyone else.” 

Nickel’s optics softened. She rested her free hand on Tarn’s forearm. The other held the unused clip at the end of the jumper cable. 

“Tarn,” she said quietly. “This could kill you.” 

“I understand,” Tarn said, when he really wanted to scream like Leozack that he didn’t care if it did. He absolutely had to remain in control. To convince Nickel that he was of sound and rational mind to make a decision like this. He had to do it while he truly felt like breaking down crying, shrieking insensibly, or both. 

It took all his acting ability to keep his voice level when he spoke. “It will _definitely _kill Deathsaurus if we don’t boost him now, and to be quite honest, the Decepticon Cause could survive without me. It won’t survive without him.” Tarn looked at the warlord lying prone on the ground. “_That _is the example the Decepticons need. Let the Cause be a cord that binds us together as valued equals, rather than a weapon we turn on one another.” 

Nickel opened the clip, but hesitated. 

“Nickel,” Tarn said softly. “_Please_.” 

Glit interrupted. “We’re losing him.” 

Tarn’s gaze flickered to Deathsaurus. His spark was glowing dimly. It looked as though the slightest motion would snuff it out. 

“If we’re doing this,” Requiem said, “we need to do it now.” 

Nickel sighed. “Sit down,” she said. The instant Tarn did, he felt the jaws of the clamp fastening around his spark containment unit. “This might hurt.” 

“Nickel,” Glit said. 

Tarn dared to look. 

Deathsaurus’s chest was dark. 

Then, a glimmer. That was Deathsaurus’s incessant will to survive, raging on as his body died around him. 

“Do it,” Tarn said. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what Nickel did. He didn’t dare look away from that defiant glimmer. The entirety of his thoughts was focused on praying for Deathsaurus to hold on, just a little longer. 

Nickel was right, though. It _did _hurt. 

Tarn welcomed the pain. To suffer for his Lord…? He was _good _at that. It was the one thing in his life he’d done that was _right_. 

His vision darkened. The ground he sat on seemed far away. Sounds became muffled. The scent of hot sentio metallico became so strong that it felt like a physical blow. 

Deathsaurus’s spark flared. Shimmered. Guttered. 

“Is he stable?” Nickel asked. 

Tarn was only dimly aware of Requiem opening the access port on his forearm and plugging in his diagnostics. 

“Yes,” Requiem said. 

Only then did Tarn understand that Nickel had been talking about _him_. 

What did _he_ matter? What of Deathsaurus? 

“Again,” Nickel said. 

The second jolt knocked Tarn offline. 


	12. Waking Up Dead

Chapter Twelve: Waking Up Dead 

Location unknown 

Damus of Tarn didn’t like the smell of medbay. 

He wanted to believe that antiseptic scent meant that he was being cared for, but he couldn’t quite convince himself that was true. Ever since he’d woken up in a medbay with a blank hole for a head and claws on the ends of his arms, he’d not been able to believe that medical staff always had his best interests at heart. 

He tried to power up his fusion cannons, but instead, he got a notification that they were no longer mounted on his arm. He attempted to activate his guns, but they had been disabled, too. 

All the more reason to light his optics and find out what had happened to him. 

Fear whispered in his processor, asking him if he really wanted to know. 

He lay still and listened, instead. He could hear mechanisms moving in the room. He wasn’t alone. 

He felt warmth next to his right side. Another body. 

He _definitely _wasn’t alone. 

What kind of medbay had two mechs share a berth? 

He felt… 

There was no pain. His thoughts came clearly and easily. He flexed his fingers and curled his toes. He seemed fine. 

Except that he was tired. So very tired, even though he’d just come out of recharge. He wanted to roll over and rest some more. Just let his consciousness slip away. It would be so easy… 

No. He could do that after he figured out where he was, and why. 

Tarn summoned his courage and lit his optics. 

The ceiling was painted a familiar lavender shade, embossed with gold reliefs representing the Decepticon insignia. Tarn knew this ceiling very well indeed. He’d certainly woken up staring at it often enough. This was the medbay on the _Peaceful Tyranny._

But this wasn’t his recovery slab. 

He could see his customary slab on the other side of the room. The berth he was laying in had a rusty old pipe for a side rail and some kind of jury-rigged mechanism dangling from the pipe. From the wires and cables, Tarn guessed that it was used to adjust the berth somehow, perhaps to help the occupant sit up. Tarn remembered who used old, patched, modified gear. He’d been associating with that rag-tag lot quite a bit. 

Tarn struggled to sit on his own. His optics met the dull gaze of the attending medical staff, a tall and lean mech with black glossy paint and silver filigree on his chest. 

Requiem. 

CMO of Deathsaurus’s Warworld. 

The fear returned as Tarn’s memory banks opened, reminding him of the last time he’d seen Deathsaurus. Adrenaloids dumped into Tarn’s exhausted system. His fuel pump beat faster, his tanks tightened, his throat clenched…but it all happened much too slowly. It was as though his body was too tired to feel the panic. 

His spark, on the other hand, had no such problem. It whirled in his chest, aching and constricting, pulsing with a pressure that felt suffocating. 

Tarn turned his head, afraid of what he might see. 

Deathsaurus lay next to him in the berth, in creature mode, stretched out on his belly. His wings were folded tight against his back; his tail hung limp over the edge of the bed. There was a tube inserted into his his left nostril and several more tubes going into each of his forelimbs. The forelimb next to Tarn had its medical access cover open and diagnostic plug-ins inserted into the ports there. 

Tarn glanced down at his own left forelimb. Cover open. Diagnostic cable plugged in. 

But on Deathsaurus it was on his creature leg, because of _course _ it was… How had Overlord put it? 

This was Deathsaurus’s true form. 

His bipedal shape was just his alternate mode. 

Distantly, Tarn wondered why he wasn’t horrified, now that he’d seen proof with his own optics. Perhaps he’d be horrified later, when he knew that Deathsaurus would recover. 

Right now, all Tarn cared about was the fact that Deathsaurus wasn’t moving. The mech was a restless sleeper. Tarn had never seen him lie so limp and so still. 

“He’s alive,” Requiem said quietly. 

Tarn had almost forgotten about the medic. Memories flooded his mind. The battlefield. Jumpstarting Deathsaurus’s spark. That had to be why Tarn was so tired. 

But Tarn didn’t care at all about himself right now. 

“He’ll be all right?” Tarn asked. 

The dim light in the back of Requiem’s optics diminished further. “We don’t know yet.” Fear gripped Tarn’s voxcoder in a stranglehold. Tarn could barely choke out a single word. “But?” 

“But for now, the best we can do for him is let his body rest and repair itself. His spark is bright and strong. His sentio metallico is rejuvenating his frame. It’s a question of what damage was done during the time before that injury healed, and how much of it his self-healing abilities can compensate for.” 

“He heals very quickly.” Tarn’s gaze fell on Deathsaurus’s head. That had been an understatement. Deathsaurus had grown a few new spines. They were red, flanking the large central crest. Tarn could smell the warm sentio metallico as the new structures took shape. One of them still looked wet, as though it was solidifying under Tarn’s gaze. 

“He’s done that as long as I’ve known him,” Requiem replied. “We don’t understand why.” 

Tarn’s spark squeezed. “I might have an idea.” 

Requiem raised an optic ridge. 

“I need my datapad.” 

The CMO opened a drawer next to the berth and withdrew the item in question. Tarn took it, activated the screen, and selected the folder marked PROJECT DESZARAS. “I believe that Deathsaurus is an experimental prototype from the project that was the precursor to the Super MTO program. You might find some more detailed notes here. Perhaps something in there will help you to treat him.” 

Part of Tarn wanted to keep the datapad and read the files first, but Deathsaurus’s welfare meant more to him than satisfying his own curiosity, or assuaging his fears. 

“Thank you,” Requiem said as he accepted the datapad. 

“And tell my DJD…are they all right?” 

“Yes.” 

“And Leozack? And Deathsaurus’s crew?” 

“We had minimal casualties, thanks to your timely intervention.” 

“The Consortia outpost?” 

“Still stands. We withdrew as soon as we could.” 

Tarn felt relieved, even though the mission had been a failure. It was a strange feeling, to be so concerned with people instead of with results. “We’ll get them next time.” 

“You should rest,” Requiem said. “Your spark was made to produce twice its usual output, two times in close succession. You’re doubtlessly exhausted.” 

“Tell my DJ…” Tarn broke off. No, they weren’t _his DJD _any longer. “Tell _my people _I’m all right.” 

“I will.” Requiem’s expression grew stern. “Now _rest_.” 

Tarn didn’t want to recharge. He wanted to sit up and guard Deathsaurus, until he saw the light go on in the beastformer’s optics. Until he heard Deathsaurus say in his own voice that he was going to be fine. 

But Tarn’s body betrayed him. It was all he could do to lie down before he fell over. In his last moments of consciousness, he rolled onto his side, resting his hand on Deathsaurus’s neck, touching his nose to Deathsaurus’s cheek. 

# 

When Tarn sat up again, the medbay was dim. Tarn couldn’t see any of the medics, though he heard footsteps in the corridor, suggesting they were close at hand. He looked down at the creature lying motionless next to him, listened to the steady monotonous beeping of the monitors plugged into Deathsaurus’s foreleg, and sighed. 

“You too, hm?” 

Tarn could not describe the sense of relief that swamped his emotions when he saw Deathsaurus’s optic light up with a ruby glow. The sensation felt as though it could drown him. 

Deathsaurus cocked his head curiously. “Megatron, or Overlord?” 

Tarn wanted to hug Deathsaurus and tell him how much he meant to him. He should also tell him how desperately sorry he was for failing him. 

But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a spluttered, “Excuse me?” 

Deathsaurus lifted his head to regard Tarn with both his beast optics. “ _I _got gored through the chest by a Black Block Consortia diamond-tipped missile lance,” he said, entirely too nonchalantly. “Honestly, it was a chance in a million hit. The aerodynamics on those things should _not _have been good enough to strike me at that altitude.” 

Tarn winced. He’d much rather forget Deathsaurus’s injury and the damage it had done. Between the spark boost, the Nuke, and the accelerated healing factor of a Super MTO prototype with extra sentio metallico, Deathsaurus looked fine. Physically, at least. 

“Your turn,” Deathsaurus said. His beak curved in a smirk. “Come on, don’t be shy. How’d you die?” 

Tarn knew Deathsaurus’s sense of humour tended towards the gallows variety, but this conversation was terribly dark, even for the Warworld’s commander. “I didn’t…we didn’t…” 

Deathsaurus put his foreleg—the one without the diagnostic cables plugged into it—on Tarn’s thigh. “Tarn,” he said, and his voice was admonishing. “I think we’re past the point of deluding ourselves.” 

Tarn’s jaw dropped. “You _honestly _think you died and the _first _thing you do is make wisecracks?” Because of course. Of course he did. Because this was Deathsaurus and he always faced terrible odds with a shrug and a smirk. Because Deathsaurus was no hypocrite and not even death itself could change him. 

Deathsaurus’s feathers flattened in concern. “Forgive me. I’ve been…flip. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” 

That admission was touching, though the moment was ruined by the fact that Deathsaurus apparently had no idea that he was still in the land of moving parts. Tarn couldn’t think of a single eloquent thing to say in a preposterous situation like this. 

“We’re not dead!” Tarn spluttered. 

“Damus,” Deathsaurus said gently. “I saw my spark flicker out.” 

“I jump-started it!” 

Deathsaurus cocked his head again. This time, the gesture seemed skeptical. 

Tarn realized he hadn’t been particularly precise. “Nickel administered the procedure,” he explained. “I was just the donor. Apparently her people discovered how to boost a fading spark with power from another spark.” 

Deathsaurus’s tail flicked madly. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said slowly. 

Tarn felt a bizarre sense of disorientation. It was very strange, to have Deathsaurus accusing _him _of spouting nonsense, and worse, part of him felt that Deathsaurus might be right. Deathsaurus was his Lord, after all, and couldn’t possibly be mistaken. The error was Tarn’s. It had to be. 

_No._

_ Deathsaurus isn’t Megatron, and Megatron isn’t infallible. Neither is Deathsaurus, and that’s okay. Because he doesn’t need to be perfect to be worthy of your devotion. He just needs to be himself. _

Deathsaurus flared his head-spines and spoke slowly, as if to himself. “Because that would mean that you came back to me in time to save my life.” 

“That’s right.” 

Deathsaurus sniffed. Tarn was surprised by such a snobbish response from Deathsaurus, until the other mech spoke. “This doesn’t _smell _like my Warworld.” 

So. Not a derogatory sniff at all, but a literal scenting of his surroundings. “This is the _Peaceful Tyranny_’s medbay.” Which Deathsaurus had never been in before, because Tarn had been very careful about what areas of the ship Deathsaurus was allowed to visit. The medbay had been out of bounds because it was where Tarn kept the Nuke. 

Deathsaurus grew very still, but his optics brightened to a feverish glow. “We’re alive.” 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell…” 

Deathsaurus cut him off. “You came back for me.” 

Tarn’s frustration faded. He could _see _hope, wariness, and then utter shock reflecting from Deathsaurus’s optics. “Yes,” he said softly. 

Tarn had never thought he’d see Deathsaurus stunned into silence. Deathsaurus’s beak gaped open, and for a few moments, no sound came out of his mouth. When he finally spoke, all he could do was repeat his previous words. “You came back for me.” 


	13. Dawn Over The Ashes

Chapter Thirteen: Dawn Over The Ashes 

Deathsaurus prided himself on being ready for anything. No matter what surprises lay in store, his clever mind could quickly select and modify a contingency plan for coping with them. 

But he hadn’t expected he’d ever wake up again. Or that he’d see Tarn next to him with his mask gone. When Deathsaurus asked himself how to deal with Tarn having saved his life, his brilliant mind came up empty. 

_The universe doesn’t work this way_ . 

Deathsaurus knew what it was like to be looked down on and cheated and manipulated, ignored and overlooked and underestimated. He’d known what he would do if Tarn turned on him. He had no idea what to do with the realization that Tarn had rescued him. Nothing in his wildest dreams had ever prepared him for a situation like this. 

“I came back,” Tarn said, “to beg for your forgiveness.” Tarn’s hand strayed to his bare face. He had a terrible scar down the left side of his face, all around his left optic, and running down his cheek to his lips. Deathsaurus could see exposed circuitry and surface rust. It had to itch something terrible. 

“_Why_?” Deathsaurus asked, utterly dumbfounded. Back on Necroworld Deathsaurus had known with a terrible inevitability what Tarn would do, just as he’d known what he would do. For Deathsaurus there had never been any choice but to defend his people to his dying breath. For Tarn there had never been any choice but to devote his dying breath to Megatron, in some shape or form. Their courses had been fixed from the start. Those courses had brought them together, and then torn them apart. That made sense to Deathsaurus in a way that his present circumstances did not. 

“Because you were right.” Tarn’s talons traced the scar on his face, picking away flakes of rust. “Because Decepticonism is, or ought to be, about finding power through building community. It’s about rallying everyone who was ever told that the good things in life belonged only to those who looked a certain way, were born a certain way, acted a certain way, or performed specific functions. It’s about teaching them that we’re stronger together, and together, building a future for all of us. Because Megatron advocated Peace Through Tyranny and you advocated Strength Through Unity. And I couldn’t grasp a single thing you were saying, because I was too blinded by my all-consuming obsession with Megatron.” 

Deathsaurus held his tongue, though he wanted to howl for joy. He felt his systems spark with hope. Yet he felt too wary to express that hope, lest it vanish before his optics. In the silence, Tarn continued speaking. 

“Long ago, Megatron created a role, named it Tarn of the Decepticon Justice Division, and gave it to me to play. I played it for millions of years. I played it even after Megatron turned his back on me.” Tarn pulled his hand away from his face and stared at the rust flecks on his fingers. “I almost played it to the most bitter of ends.” 

Finally, Tarn glanced up. Without his mask, his fear was evident on his face. Not that Deathsaurus wouldn’t have known anyway, given the accelerated rate of his fuel pump or the sour scent emanating from his vents, but Deathsaurus could tell that Tarn was ashamed to have his emotions on visual display. “It wasn’t enough for me that I was prepared to die myself. I was ready to kill my team, you, and all your family, and anyone else besides, in pursuit of my own ends. For that I can never be forgiven.” 

Deathsaurus, again, said nothing. He had never been one to seek forgiveness or absolution from others, and though he understood that the concept was vitally important to Tarn, he did not know how to give what Tarn was seeking. Once again, Tarn’s voice filled the silence. 

“Only now do I see that I was never certain whether I wanted to kill Megatron or be killed by him. Either way, there was nothing for me afterwards. What mattered to me—the only thing that mattered to me—was being the person that Megatron asked me to be, long ago, far away.” 

“Yet you’re here.” 

“When you left, at first, I blamed you. Told myself all you ever did was walk away from trouble.” Tarn drew a ragged breath into his vents. “Of course you did. Your ego was never worth the lives of your crew. After all this time together, I think I know you well enough to know that you would never have left me if I hadn’t pushed you away.” 

“But then?” Deathsaurus inquired. 

“But then Nickel intervened.” Tarn dropped his gaze again. “I don’t think I ever told you what happened right after I heard about Megatron’s…change of heart. I went into a refueling chamber and I…” His faceplates flushed with heat, and his scent grew sour. More than embarrassment. _Shame. _“Do you know what Nucleon is?” 

Deathsaurus nodded. 

“Nuke is a substance that is closely related, but not quite the same. It’s far more powerful.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And more addictive.” 

Deathsaurus’s hide twitched. 

“I climbed into the Nuke tank and…I don’t know, I don’t believe I was thinking clearly. I don’t recall the _intention _to charge myself to death. That was just…what was happening. I remember my life flashing before my optics. I remember feeling that my death was inevitable, and that the whole experience was a massive disappointment.” Tarn buried his face in his palms. “Until Nickel banged on the tank and reminded me that there were other Decepticons, left leaderless in the wake of Megatron’s abdication. That I still had something to live for.” He spread his fingers, peeking at Deathsaurus through the openings between the digits. “You’ll surely be disappointed to hear that the lofty goal I chose to live for was performing my usual duty on Megatron, the newest traitor to our Empire.” 

“I think the most accurate phrase is _not surprised_,” Deathsaurus said carefully. “That behaviour fits with what I know of you.” 

Tarn hung his head. “I was doing the same thing on Necroworld. Suicide by Megatron. And, again, Nickel intervened. She asked me what’s the good of victoryif it costs everyone that matters. I thought about that, and I realized that Megatron absolutely should not matter more than…than you. Or my team.” He dared to lift his chin. “If I wouldn’t kill my team to earn your alliance, why would I do it to punish Megatron?” 

Deathsaurus dared a chuckle. “I’m surprised you didn’t shoot me in the back.” 

Tarn groaned. “I’m loathe to admit I considered it.” 

“But you didn’t. Why?” 

Tarn stared at him. “Because…” He broke off. 

“Come on. I was flaunting your authority, abandoning you, and once again, stealing a Warworld, complete with crew.” 

Tarn hesitated. Deathsaurus could see the indecision clearly on his face; he wasn’t sure himself why he’d done what he’d done. He spoke slowly, as though testing the truth in each word. “Because I didn’t want you to die so that Megatron could die. Because I didn’t want to be right at the cost of your life. Because…because a part of me, perhaps a very large part, has been in agreement with you for quite some time now; but listening to that part of me….ah, there’s the thing. _Accepting _what that part said was true would also mean accepting that my three point five million years in Megatron’s service were wasted. That everything I’d worked so hard for—and suffered so bitterly for—was going to come to nothing.” 

Deathsaurus tilted me here. “Those three point five million years…they got you here, didn’t they? They brought us to a point where we could meet face to face.” 

Tarn covered his right optic with his palm and groaned. “You’re lucky I didn’t meet you sooner or I probably would have killed you.” 

“Well, you’d have tried,” Deathsaurus conceded. “The point is, neither of us killed each other, and now, here we are. If you could re-do your life, you’d erase the good with the bad, and the odds of us ending up here together become astronomically small.” 

Tarn hesitated. “Megatron said something like that. That everything is connected. That it’s impossible to preserve some moments and not others.” 

“And somewhere along the line, he came to regret some of the outcomes from the chain of events that he’d put into motion.” Deathsaurus took a deep breath and rested his forepaw on Tarn’s hands. “It’s not wrong if you end up doing the same.” 

Tarn’s optics sparked. “It’s not?” 

“The past is behind us. Fixed. Unchangeable. But the future is always open.” Deathsaurus tilted his head. “Stealing the Warworld wasn’t _easy_, Tarn. I thought about all the other Decepticons who lost their lives because my crew were supposed to act as a diversion according to Megatron’s battle plan. I know that without that diversion, other units took heavy casualties. I know that I was making myself and all my followers into criminals, traitors under the law if not in spirit.” 

“And I hunted you,” Tarn whispered. “Not the last casualties I caused you. I know you lost people on Necroworld. Doubtlessly from the Consortia outpost attack as well.” 

Deathsaurus felt his spark wrench as he thought of it. He asked himself if he was angry with Tarn for the injuries suffered and lives lost. He looked down into his spark, but found only grief. 

“I will mourn them,” Deathsaurus said slowly. “But _blame_…that’s a heavy word. I didn’t object to hunting down Megatron on principle. I simply wanted to do it as cleanly as possible. It’s not as though I haven’t lost troops by raiding the Galactic Council and Black Block Consortia. My soldiers know that our operations are dangerous. I’ve never forced any of them to fight for me. All they ever asked is that I consider their lives to be valuable. To not spend them cheaply, the way Megatron did.” 

Tarn closed his hands around Deathsaurus’s foreleg. “We’re done with Megatron,” he said abruptly. “Whether Overlord kills him or not. I’ve asked this team—your people and my own—to sacrifice entirely too much already. Megatron is no longer a Decepticon and as a result, he’s irrelevant.” He brought his wavering gaze to meet Deathsaurus’s optics. “And I am no longer Tarn. The…the Decepticon Justice Division is disbanded. I can offer you nothing more than Damus…” He drew in a ragged breath. “Megatron’s leftovers,” he added bitterly. 

Deathsaurus smirked. “Damus, I’m a pirate. I’m accustomed to taking the valuables of others and making them my own.” He curled his tail over Damus’s thigh. “But people aren’t property,” he murmured. “You don’t belong _to _me.” 

Tarn’s optics shimmered. Hurt, Deathsaurus guessed. 

Deathsaurus added, “I’d like it if you could belong _with _me.” 

Tarn’s mouth lifted in a tentative smile. Then it fell. “What about my team?” 

“They’re free mechs, aren’t they? That’s their choice to make. If they wish to accept our rules, we will welcome them. If they don’t, they’re free to go and do as they would.” 

Tarn nodded. “The world I knew…is ashes now, Deathsaurus. I’m not quite sure how to make my way in this new one.” 

“Don’t think for a moment you haven’t upended all my beliefs about what would happen to me when the chips were down…” 

“They fought for you, you know.” Tarn squeezed Deathsaurus’s paw. “You _do _know that, don’t you? Your entire crew. If they hadn’t refused to leave you on that battlefield, I never would have gotten to you in time.” 

Deathsaurus felt his spark squeeze. “No. I didn’t know.” Then his optics narrowed. “I ordered Esmeral to retreat…” 

“And she, loyal as always, _did_, but your troops rebelled. She kept your faith. So did they.” Tarn bit his lip. “Leozack was the primary instigator.” 

“Leozack.” 

“He said he’d rather die than abandon his brother. Or words to that effect.” 

Deathsaurus felt his spark spin madly, and this time, he couldn’t keep the hope he felt from lifting his wings and raising his neck feathers. “Leozack,” Deathsaurus repeated, and this time he was smiling. 

“It’s probably far past time we tell your crew that you’re back in the land of moving parts.” 

“Wait,” Deathsaurus said. “Before you do, I need to know. What happened to your mask?” 

Tarn raised his upper hand to his face again. “I gave it to Overlord.” 

Deathsaurus’s gaze sharpened as he leaned in closer. “You never take it off. Not even for me. But you gave it to Overlord?” 

“I did take it off for you,” Tarn replied. “I told Overlord to stay and finish off Megatron, and he said that if he was going to play D.J.D. then he wanted the mask, and…and I gave it to him, Deathsaurus, because I’m not playing that role any longer. The mech that Megatron created…the terrible Tarn…he would have stayed on Necroworld and fought Megatron and hoped all the while that Megatron would kill him. That they would die together in a glorious immolation, a firey monument to the Decepticon Cause.” Tarn shook his head. “I’m not that person anymore. I’m Damus of Tarn, and I’m done playing to Megatron’s script.” 

Deathsaurus felt stunned. “You really mean it,” he said slowly. 

“I really do,” Damus replied. “I have no grounds on which to ask anything of you, but I’m going to plead with you anyway to give me a chance to prove it.” 

“You know I’m not a trusting mech by nature. It will take some time to convince me.” Deathsaurus winked. “But I have to say this is a very promising start.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes my contribution to the TFBigBang 2019. I'd like to thank my talented artist and also the organizer, for putting together this event, and everyone who participated to make it a success. There's been some great illustrated fic to come out of this event and it's been a joy to see the community response. 
> 
> And I'm always pleased to write Tarnsaurus.
> 
> Thanks for following along!


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